In Another Life X
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: For everyone who requested another in this series :-) Yet another tale of the young Dr. Harleen Quinzel's first meeting with the man known as Jack Napier.
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life X**

"I can't wait for your wedding, Harley! It'll be the happiest day of your life!"

The cheerful words of her friends rang in her ears as Dr. Harleen Quinzel rode the subway back to her apartment in Gotham City. It was rush hour, and the subway was packed – Harleen silently cursed herself for arranging her engagement party lunch to finish just in time for traffic, but she hadn't really thought about timing. She hadn't really thought about much of anything to do with the wedding. Her mother was being her usual, overbearing self in terms of wedding planning, so Harleen didn't really have much say in it, which she knew wasn't completely fair on her special day. But in all honesty, she thought, as she stared blankly at her shoes, she couldn't care less about the wedding. The only reason she was willing to go through with it was partially to appease her parents, and partially because she assured herself that her reluctance to go through with it was just wedding jitters. She was silly for being nervous.

She and her fiance, Ricky Sorkin, had been together ever since they were teenagers in high school, and Harleen's mother had finally put her foot down that now was the right time for them to tie the knot. Personally, Harleen wasn't sure she was ready for a commitment like that, at least, not with Ricky. He was a nice guy, and had been a loving, caring boyfriend through all their years together. But there was something…missing, she thought, some spark that she had always read about in romance novels, or seen in romantic comedies. Some special feeling that would make fireworks go off inside her at his every touch, and butterflies flit around her stomach at the sight of him. Some burning, obsessive need for the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with, some uncontrollable desire that made his presence like oxygen to her, which made her need it to live. But then, she supposed that that was probably just some fantasy sold by Hollywood. Real relationships weren't like that. At least, hers hadn't been.

Maybe that was what was bothering her. Maybe she regretted never feeling that for Ricky, and she wondered if it was Ricky's fault, or hers, for never having dated anyone else. For just settling for the first man who would have her, a safe, stable, nice guy, and being too apathetic or afraid to break out of the relationship and explore her own desires as a single woman. She had always been a shy, scared, timid person, and had basically gone straight from her parents's protection into Ricky's. She had never been out on her own, taking risks, doing dangerous things, finding out for herself what she wanted out of life. Her mother had always been a very domineering figure, and had insisted that she knew what was best for her only child. But Harleen wasn't so sure that her mother really knew what was best for her. Heck, she wasn't even sure that she did either.

But as she thought about the wedding in a few months time, all she could imagine was herself saying those words, those hollow, empty words about loving and cherishing forever, and not meaning a word of them. She imagined herself as the most miserable bride, but there was no reason to be miserable, she assured herself. She was a young, successful doctor, a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, and a young lady on the verge of being married to a nice guy. Anyone else would be overjoyed at her situation. There was obviously something wrong with her. She should be smiling all the time, but her frown rarely left her face these days.

It had been agony forcing a smile all throughout the engagement party. And now Harleen was relieved that she could take her forty minute journey home on the subway alone with her thoughts, not having to pretend to be happy when in her mind, a black cloud hung over her future that could never be lifted.

She should tell Ricky the truth, she reasoned, that she was apprehensive about their wedding, and that she wasn't ready to get married. But it would break his heart. And besides, you couldn't very well continue in a relationship once you'd told a guy you didn't want to marry him. She would have to break things off, move out of their apartment together and find someplace else on her own. Start over, all on her own. She wasn't sure she had the courage for that. So she was a coward, and she was afraid her cowardice was going to bind her forever to a man she had no strong feelings for, and condemn herself to a life of unhappiness.

She sighed heavily. "You ok, kid?" asked a voice suddenly.

She looked up to see a man opposite her, holding onto the same railing and studying her carefully. He was an older man, tall and strangely handsome, with intense green eyes that looked at her in concern. "You feeling all right?" he asked. "I know these carriages can be pretty packed, and people have been known to faint…"

"Oh no, I wasn't gonna faint," said Harleen, smiling at him. "I'm not really that type."

"Good," he said. "You look a little ill, though. You staying hydrated? It's a hot day."

"I'm fine, thanks," she said, but then she realized that was pretty thirsty. Her thoughts had preoccupied her so much that she had forgotten about her body's basic needs. "Could probably use a drink when I get off, though," she said, licking her lips to try to wet them.

"How much longer have you got to go?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes now," she said, glancing at her watch. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"Ok, if you're sure," he said, shrugging. He patted his breast pocket. "Got a hip flask here if you're desperate, but I don't think scotch will actually help hydrate you. Plus it's kinda illegal to drink it on the subway, but they'll never take me alive."

Harleen grinned. "Thanks for the offer, Mr…"

"Napier. Jack Napier," he said, holding out his hand to her. Harleen took it.

"Harleen Quinzel," she said. "Doctor Harleen Quinzel, actually, but call me Harley. Everyone does."

"Doctor?" he repeated, surprised. "Well then, you'd think you'd know the importance of hydration on a hot day."

"I do," replied Harleen, smiling. "I just…have kinda a lot on my mind, so I didn't think about it."

Jack chuckled. "Doctors!" he laughed. "They're so smart that they forget they're actually human beings with human needs! Glad I never went to college – wouldn't wanna forget my needs," he said, flashing her a grin as he reached for his flask and took a sip.

"I'm telling the cops when we get off," she said, grinning.

"Do it and I'll kill you for ratting me out," he said, smiling at her.

She smiled back at the joke. She realized that not only was she thirsty, but that her head had begun to ache fiercely, a low, dull throbbing that wasn't helped by the heat and the crowd.

 _I need to get outta here_ she thought. _Get off at the next stop, get some air…_

She nodded firmly to herself, and started toward the door, when the train suddenly lurched to a stop, sending her flying backward. She was caught by Jack, who steadied her gently on her feet. "Seriously, kid, you ok?" he repeated, concerned.

"Um…got kinda a headache," she murmured. "I'm just gonna get out here and get some water…"

"Here, I'll come with you," he said, shoving people out of the way as he helped her toward the door.

"That's kind, but…don't you have someplace to be?" she asked.

"It can wait," he said, helping her off the train and up the steps of the station. "I mean, I may be a pretty cruel guy, but not even the most heartless guy in the world can abandon a beautiful young lady when she ain't feeling her best."

"I don't think you're a cruel guy," she said, smiling at him as he helped her into a chair of an outdoor café across from the station.

"You don't know me very well," he replied, grinning. "Now, what can I getcha to drink?"

"Just a water, please," she said. "Thank you."

"Back in a sec," he said. "Take a couple deep breaths, and shout if you need me," he said, heading inside.

Harleen obeyed, drawing in large gulps of air and shutting her eyes as she leaned back to bask in the rare Gotham sun. The day was pleasantly warm once you got away from the packed heat of the subway trains, and the sounds of the traffic and the smells of the food vendors calmed her restless thoughts and feelings.

"Here you go, kid," said Jack, returning and placing a glass of ice water in front of her. "You drink that slowly, and you'll feel better in no time."

"I already do, thank you," she said, smiling at him. "I'm sorry to cause you such trouble. I feel a little silly now…"

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said, grinning. "Hardly an effort to serve a pretty girl. More of a pleasure really."

Harleen felt herself blushing. "You are quite the charmer, Mr. Napier," she said, sipping her water.

"Well, I try," he replied with a grin. "And call me Jack, Doc."

"Jack," she said, nodding. "I can't thank you enough for this. I was really feeling sick down there – not sure I would have made it out without fainting without your help…"

"Thought you weren't the fainting type," he said.

Harleen smiled. "Well, maybe I am," she murmured. "Maybe I don't know myself as well as I think. Maybe today's taught me that if nothing else."

He studied her. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"No," she retorted, taking another sip from her drink. "I wanna forget about it, actually. I wanna forget everything about today, and my life, if I could…"

She trailed off. "I'm sorry, I won't…bother you with my problems. I'm the shrink, not you – you're not obliged to listen to me," she said with a grin.

"Shrink, huh?" he said, smiling at her. "So you can analyze people just by looking at 'em?"

"That's not quite how it works," she replied. "Few people can be judged from their appearance – psychiatry is about talking to them and uncovering their true personalities and finding the root of their problems."

"So why can't you do that to yourself?" he asked. "Find out who you are, and find the root of your own problems?"

She shrugged. "It's easier to tell other people what to do. Much harder to follow your own advice."

"I get that," he said, lighting up a cigarette. "You want one?" he asked, offering the pack to her.

"I don't..." began Harleen, but then she paused and reached for one. "Sure, why not?" she asked. "Only way I know I don't like something is to try it, ain't that right?"

"Well, not the _only_ way," replied Jack with a grin. "Brutal torture or painful death I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like without trying."

Harleen laughed as Jack lit the cigarette for her. She took a long puff on it, and then gasped, choking and coughing and chugging her water.

"Ok, I know I don't like that now," she said, putting down the cigarette in the ashtray.

"Hey, don't waste it!" he exclaimed, grabbing it from her and putting it to his lips next to his own. He made a face. "Ugh, you got lipstick all over it," he muttered, taking it out and wiping it off before putting it in his mouth again.

"Sorry," said Harleen. "I don't normally wear lipstick. In fact, I don't normally get dolled up like this, only…I've just come from a party, and it was expected of me."

He shook his head. "You shouldn't do anything just because people expect it of you, toots," he said. "That's no way to live. You'll never be happy trying to meet other people's expectations, because you never will meet 'em."

Harleen nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe you're right," she said quietly.

"You want another water?" he asked, nodding at her empty glass.

She looked at the glass, and then at him. "Maybe something a little stronger?" she asked.

He grinned. "Coming right up," he said, propping the cigarettes on the ashtray and heading back inside.

Harleen wasn't much of a drinker, and she definitely wasn't much of a drinker after all the champagne she had had at her engagement party. But she needed to drink to forget right now, to continue to enjoy this nice man's company and not remind herself that she should be getting back home to Ricky. Although she shouldn't, she remembered suddenly. Ricky was off at his own engagement party thrown by his friends – they were off camping upstate and wouldn't be back until tomorrow. She had the rest of the afternoon to spend with this man, if she choose. And the rest of the evening.

Harleen had always been a good girl. Doing what she was supposed to do, never breaking any rules, never doing anything that anyone could possibly consider bad or wrong. But as drinks turned into dinner with Jack, and then back to drinks after dinner, she realized she had stopped caring about the ethics of basically spending an evening with another man other than her fiance. Jack was absolutely charming and considerate, the picture of a gentleman, and he made her laugh and smile so much. She had forgotten what it was like to genuinely laugh and be happy, but she was reminded of it as the evening drew on. And whether it was the alcohol that lowered her inhibitions, or whether her own sense of morality just snapped after being held in place for so long, the end result was that she found herself passionately kissing Jack in the bar, and then in the cab, and then whispering, "Yours," in his ear as he murmured, "Your place or mine?"

She didn't even see what Jack's place was like before he had picked her up around the waist and carried her into the bedroom. He began to undress, tearing off his jacket, and Harleen noticed that he wore a gun strapped in a holster over his shoulder. For a moment, she wondered why he would need to carry a gun, if he was a cop or something, but Jack didn't seem like a cop, and the moment he was on top of her, she was past caring what he was aside from a man.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, her rational self was screaming at her, reminding her that she was an engaged young lady, that she knew nothing about this man that she only met today, and that she shouldn't be doing this. But some other, stronger, irrational part of her was past the point of caring. Jack was incredible – his mouth and hands and body did things to her own body that she had never felt before with her fiance. Ricky and she had been each other's first, and so she had never known anything but his desperate fumblings and comparatively limited stamina. Not so with Jack. Jack was a man, and an expert at making a woman feel like a woman. Harleen had never felt anything like what he did to her body – it was indescribable.

This was wrong, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep in his arms afterward. She had done a bad, crazy thing, and she should feel incredibly guilty about it. But she didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel anything but blissfully happy, for the first time in her life.


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke, confused, to a bed that wasn't her own. It took her a moment to remember what had happened last night, and in the cold, sober light of day, her conscience reasserted itself. Guilt and shame washed over her, and she flushed bright red as she climbed out of bed and hurriedly gathered up her clothes.

"Hey, you're awake!" exclaimed a voice. Harleen turned to see Jack entering the room, dressed in his undershirt and pants, and carrying a tray of bacon, eggs, and coffee. He beamed at her. "Thought I'd bring you something to help with the hangover, assuming you got a hangover, of course. You didn't seem that drunk to me last night, or I never woulda taken you home - I ain't that kinda guy to take advantage of a drunk girl who can't consent. But fried stuff is always good for breakfast anyway, huh?"

"Um…sure," stammered Harleen, clutching her clothes to her naked body protectively. "Um…look…I appreciate the thought, but…but I gotta go," she said, glancing at the clock.

"Oh. Someplace to be?" he asked. "I thought you wouldn't have work, it being a Saturday and all, but maybe shrinks keep different hours to the rest of us. I suppose the crazies still need counseling on weekends!" he chuckled. "It's not like madness takes a day off!"

"Um…no," agreed Harleen. She looked at him, blushing furiously. "I'm sorry, but can you…turn around while I get dressed?"

His face fell in confusion. "Er…sure, ok," he said, obeying her. "Didn't think you'd be so modest after what we did last night…"

"Please…don't remind me of what we did last night," stammered Harleen, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled her clothes on hastily. "I…I don't want to remember it. I shouldn't have done it, I…"

She trailed off and turned around to see him looking at her with a hurt expression on his face. "Oh," he said. "Not a…uh…satisfied customer, huh?"

"Oh no," said Harleen, hastily. "No, no, no, it's not that at all. It's not you – you were amazing. It's…it's me. I shouldn't have…I mean, I led you to believe that I…had the freedom to do this, and that's simply not the case. The truth is…the truth is…I'm engaged to be married," she blurted out. "And my fiance will be home any minute, and I have to be there when he is. I can't let him know I've…I've cheated on him."

He sat down on the bed. "Engaged to be married," he repeated. "Well, that's a real shame, toots. Cause I kinda thought…we had something, a connection, maybe. I was really looking forward to seeing you again. I was kinda hoping…this was more than just a one-night stand."

"Well…it's not," stammered Harleen. "It's not, it was just…foolishness on my part, just silliness. I…I…had just come from my engagement party, and I felt…trapped, and I wanted…I wanted to be free. For just one night, I wanted to be free to be…me. To be selfish and stupid, to do what I wanted to do, to laugh too much and drink too much, and…make mistakes," she murmured, staring at him.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Never been called a mistake before," he muttered. "But I suppose it's not the worst thing I've ever been called."

"No, Jack, don't take it like that," she said. "I didn't mean…I don't regret what you did. I regret what I did. You're not to blame at all. I blame only myself for what happened, and I'm sorry if I hurt you in any way. The fault is mine, and mine alone, and I will never stop feeling guilty about it. I shouldn't have done this. I've hurt Ricky, and myself, and now you."

"You didn't hurt me," he said. "But I can't deny I'm a little disappointed. Your fiance is a really, really lucky guy," he added with a smile. "I hope he knows that."

Harleen flushed again, but this time it wasn't from embarrassment. "Thank you," she said. "I'm…sure he does. He's very enthusiastic about the wedding."

"Why aren't you?" he asked. "If you don't mind my asking. Why are you marrying the guy if you're so trapped you feel the need to go out and have a one-night stand with some randomer just to feel happy?"

"I…I don't know," stammered Harleen. "I honestly don't know. I love Ricky, I…"

But as she said those words, she realized how hollow and empty they sounded. And then she realized the truth. "I…don't love him," she said, quietly. "At least, I don't think so. I'm not sure what love is, I'm not sure I've ever really felt it. But I don't think I feel it for Ricky."

"So you're really gonna go through with a wedding to some guy you don't love?" asked Jack. "Why?"

"I don't know," repeated Harleen. "To…to make my parents happy, so I won't hurt him, because…because it's what's expected of me."

He studied her, and then came over to her, cupping her face in his hands. She flinched but didn't draw away. "Ok," he murmured. "You do what's expected of you, toots. You do that if you think that's best. It's such a shame though," he said, tracing his thumb gently along her lips. "You got the most beautiful smile, all beaming and gorgeous and glowing. And meeting other people's expectations ain't gonna make you smile. It's gonna kill your smile. It's gonna turn it from happy and genuine to cold and forced and miserable. You see 'em on people all the time when you look around, fake smiles, false smiles, not a genuine feeling of happiness among 'em. But yours is genuine. Yours is real. I saw it last night, and I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. And it's so sad when beautiful things have to die. Such a waste."

He dropped his hands and turned away from her. "Goodbye, Harley," he said. "I hope you and Ricky will be very happy together."

Harleen stared at him, wanting to say something as involuntary tears trickled down her cheek. "Jack…" she whispered. "Can I…see you again?"

He turned back to her. "Not like this," she added, hastily. "Not…not like an affair or anything. Just…just maybe as…as friends. I just…need a friend who knows the truth. About Ricky and about…about me," she stammered, gazing at him.

He went over to pick up his shirt from the floor, buttoning it up. "I ain't really the kinda guy who'd be good to have as a friend, toots," he said, reaching down and picking up his holster. "Us keeping in touch would be more dangerous to you than you could possibly know."

"Why?" she asked. "What are you?"

He grinned. "Not a nice guy," he said, buckling on the holster. "Not like your fiance. Why doncha you go back to him, huh? Just forget this ever happened. I mean, this was probably wishful thinking on my part – I never shoulda thought a girl like you could really be with a guy like me anyway. Smart, pretty, sweet, successful doctor and me…it really never coulda been anything else but a one-night stand."

He pulled his jacket on over his holster. "Still, it was nice," he said, smiling at her. "Really, really nice."

"Yeah," agreed Harleen, blushing again. "It was."

They gazed at each other, and then almost unconsciously brought their lips together again in a tender kiss. Harleen felt her heart bursting at the touch of his lips, sparks flying out from every part of her body. Ricky's kisses had never felt like that.

Jack drew away at last. "Bye, Harley," he murmured.

"Bye," she whispered, heading for the door. She looked back at him one last time, and then opened the door, took a deep breath, and left.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, Harley, where you been?" asked Ricky, as Harleen unlocked the door to their apartment. "How was your party?"

"Oh, it was…great, Ricky," stammered Harleen. "It…uh…went on longer than expected, actually. I ended up staying overnight at one of the girl's houses. We had a lot to drink."

"Glad you had fun," he said, grinning.

"Yeah," agreed Harleen. "How was camping?"

"Fun," he agreed. "Missed you though, baby," he murmured, kissing her. Harleen couldn't help but compare it to Jack's kiss, and how flat and dull it seemed by comparison.

"You wanna maybe do some catching up in the bedroom?" he asked, grinning as he continued to kiss her.

"Um…I'm actually…not in the mood, Ricky," she said, pushing him gently away. "Still a little hungover – you know how it is. I wouldn't enjoy it."

"Maybe later, huh?" asked Ricky, drawing away. "Better get you something for that hangover though."

"Yeah. You don't…have work later?" asked Harleen, casually.

"Nah, took the whole weekend off," replied Ricky, heading into the kitchen. "Unless there's some kinda horrible, city-wide crime that means the commissioner needs to call in extra men, I'm all yours this weekend, baby."

"Well, I'll hope that doesn't happen for a couple of reasons," said Harleen, in what she hoped was a sincere voice.

Ricky shrugged. "It could. We've been closing in on the Valestra gang for a long time – the commissioner could give the order to raid them any time now, and he'll want everyone in for that. Better to be over-prepared with a guy like Sal Valestra – he's slippery."

"Yeah, he sounds it," agreed Harleen. This was really the only thing they had in common – Ricky was a police officer, and Harleen was a criminal psychiatrist. So they shared a common interest in the criminal, and enjoyed talking about respective crimes together. But while Ricky was primarily concerned with arresting criminals and putting them away for a long time, Harleen was primarily concerned with helping and rehabilitating them and finding out why they did what they did. It had often led to disagreements. "But taking down Valestra will be a huge benefit to this city."

"Hopefully," agreed Ricky. "It depends how many of his associates we can take down with him. If we just get Valestra, that's great, but there'll be someone else in his gang to take his place. Most of his guys are probably itching to have him out of the way so they can have a shot at leading. And better the devil you know than the devil you don't. Valestra we've been tailing a long time, so we know how he thinks. God only knows how Bronski or Sol or Napier thinks."

Harleen froze at the name. "Um…Napier?" she asked, casually. "I don't think I've heard you mention that name before."

"Don't think I would have needed to," replied Ricky, handing her a glass of water and some aspirin. "He's nobody important – just one of Valestra's lackeys. Big mob bosses like Valestra always have their fair share of stooges, and that's all Jack Napier is."

Harleen's heart was pounding wildly – it couldn't be the same man. Jack Napier was probably a common enough name, after all. But it would explain why Jack carried around a gun…

"What does he look like, this Jack Napier?" she asked.

"Why are you so interested?" he asked, puzzled.

She shrugged. "You know me and criminals, Ricky. I've always been fascinated by what drives people to commit crimes, and as a psychiatrist, you can tell a lot about someone from the way they look. I mean, I know they say not to judge by appearances, but people's appearances reveal a lot about them, whether they know it or not. The stuff they can't control reveals as much about them as the stuff they can."

Ricky shrugged too. "He looks pretty average, I think. I've only seen his mugshot once, so I don't really remember too many details. You want me to describe Valestra and I can – we've had his image burned into our brains!" he laughed. "Including what he looks like with a disguise, facial hair, and in women's clothes!"

"No, that's fine," said Harleen, trying to calm herself. It probably wasn't the same Jack Napier, she assured herself. But somewhere deep inside her, excitement bubbled up at the idea that she had slept with a criminal. She had cheated on her fiance for a one-night stand with a gangster. That was horrible, and dirty, and wrong, and she had never felt so excited at the idea, which was also horrible and dirty and wrong. "I ain't gonna pop quiz you like the comish," she added, smiling at Ricky.

He kissed her. "Hopefully the raid will catch the whole gang," he said. "And then I can tell you exactly what Jack Napier looks like, after he's been arrested and sent off to jail. I can guarantee you, he won't be smiling then. That's something I can tell you about him – his alias is the Joker because he's always smiling and joking, including when he's murdering innocent people. Seems to think it's funny, the sadistic bastard."

"Yeah," agreed Harleen, her suspicions slowly becoming confirmed. Jack had certainly been quite the joker. But she couldn't reconcile the nice man she had spent the evening with with the crazy psychopath Ricky described. But then, as a psychiatrist, she knew psychopaths were talented at concealing their true nature. Maybe Jack had just put on a charming façade to seduce her. Maybe he had intended to murder her or something. Maybe she had been lucky to escape with her life. This is why you shouldn't go home with strange men you know nothing about, her brain reminded her. And yet, she just couldn't see Jack hurting her. His treatment toward her, both in the bedroom and outside of it, had been nothing but tender and loving. There had been nothing sadistic in his behavior toward her, but maybe that would have changed with time. That horrible, wrong part of her brain wondered eagerly what that would be like. Ricky had always treated her gently too – she wondered what it would be like to have sex with a man who didn't.

"You gonna have that aspirin?" asked Ricky's voice suddenly, breaking in on her thoughts.

She forced her mind away from speculation of that nature and back to Ricky. "Sorry, I was miles away!" she laughed, popping the pills in her mouth and swallowing them. "Thinking about…something else."

"About what?" he asked.

"Just…how people get like that," she said. "Crazy, sadistic, y'know. What is it that drives them to commit murders and find them funny? How does a mind…ever get that messed up?"

"You're the shrink – you tell me!" laughed Ricky. "Personally, I don't care how they get messed up, as long as we stop them from hurting other innocent people. Confine 'em or kill 'em, that's the only way to deal with people like that. People like Napier, there's something sick and wrong at the heart of them. That can't ever be reformed, no matter what you uncover about their childhood. They're just evil to the bone."

"Maybe," agreed Harleen, slowly. What did that say about her, that she found ideas like that exciting? How messed up must her own mind be? And what would Ricky say if he ever found out she was having these thoughts?

Maybe she should tell him, she thought, studying him. Tell him what had really happened last night, and who the man she went to bed with was, and how she didn't really feel guilty about it, but more excited remembering it. Maybe he would break it off with her voluntarily. Or maybe…he would want to have her confined as well. Locked up in some institution, for her own good. She didn't have the courage to face the consequences of her actions. So she just smiled at him instead. "Thank God…I found myself a nice guy," she added. "Wouldn't wanna get involved with…someone like that."

He laughed. "Don't you worry, baby," he said, kissing her tenderly. "I'll always be here to protect you from the crazies. Nobody evil like Valestra or Napier is gonna lay a hand on you while I'm around."

Harleen forced a smile, but it turned into a genuine smile when she remembered how it felt to have Jack laying his hands all over her last night. "Good," she said, still thinking of Jack. "Wouldn't want to have anything to do with criminals. That would be…crazy."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, how was your engagement party?"

Harleen looked up, astonished, at her patient, the former Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, who now went by the name Poison Ivy.

"How…do you know I had an engagement party, Pamela?" she asked, surprised.

"The doctors here have been gossiping about it," said Ivy, shrugging. "I assume they weren't making it up. But you're not wearing a ring or anything, so they could be."

"Um…no, they're not," stammered Harleen. "Ricky…my fiance…he hasn't picked out a ring yet. I mean, we were going to go ring shopping together some day when our work schedules don't conflict but…they usually do. He's a police officer, so he's pretty busy. Not that any of that is your business – I really shouldn't be discussing my personal life in my professional capacity," she said, adjusting her glasses and glancing down at her notes again.

"I won't tell anyone," said Ivy. "Been together long?"

"I'd really rather not discuss it, Pamela, as I said…" began Harleen.

"You tell me about your life, and I'll tell you about mine," interrupted Ivy. "That's only fair."

Harleen stared at her. "You mean…you'd actually tell me what happened to you? How you became…what you are now?"

She gestured to the green-skinned woman in front of her. Poison Ivy had been notoriously uncooperative with her doctors, and refused to tell anyone how she had become the plant-human hybrid she now was. Harleen knew she couldn't pass up the opportunity if she was telling the truth.

"Yeah," agreed Ivy, nodding. "My…experiences with men have been pretty bad. I'd like to hear about a nice relationship, for once, just so I don't lose faith in the whole concept of romance altogether."

"Um…ok," said Harleen, slowly. "Um…me and Ricky have been together since high school. He was my best friend growing up and…he asked me out one day, and we've been together ever since. It's pretty boring stuff, actually."

"I think it's nice," said Ivy. "Stable. That hasn't been my experience with relationships. You're lucky."

"I guess I am," agreed Harleen, her thoughts flashing back to Jack suddenly. "I just sometimes wonder…whether it's too stable, too tidy. Whether I'm not missing out on something…better." She flushed. "That's a terrible thing to admit…"

"No, I get it," said Ivy, nodding. "I mean, in my case, I loved a guy madly once and…it didn't end so well. But every time I meet a guy now and I don't feel that same madness for him, I have to question if what I feel is really love. It's hard to tell sometimes. Anyway, in my experience, real love has always hurt, so whatever you have is probably better than that."

"I guess," agreed Harleen again. "So…what happened with your love?"

Ivy sighed. "He was an older guy, and I was young and innocent and naïve. But the moment we met, we just…clicked. It felt like destiny, like it was meant to be. He made me feel things I never felt before, incredible things. I was crazy enough to do anything for him. So I did," she added, with a wry smile. "He was a botanical biochemist – wanted to test some scientific stuff to do with human-plant hybridization. And I was his guinea pig. You see the result," she said, gesturing to herself. "When Jason saw the monster he had created, he abandoned me. I haven't seen him since. And I have a real hard time trusting men after that. Not that I should – most men are scum."

"I don't think that's true," said Harleen, thinking of Jack again. "I mean…they can be objectively bad, but…that doesn't mean they're entirely bad, does it?"

"If they're a man, probably," retorted Ivy. "But then your fiance seems all right. Nice for a guy to be committed for that long. It's pretty unusual in my experience."

"Yeah, Ricky's…great," said Harleen, slowly. "Nice, good, upstanding guy. Kinda guy every girl dreams of, really."

"When's your wedding?" asked Ivy.

"We…uh…haven't set a date," said Harleen. "Scheduling problems, y'know. But we will."

"I won't expect an invite," said Ivy, grinning.

"If I invited you, I'd have to invite all the patients," said Harleen, grinning back. "And I think that would be quite a sight at the wedding party, the inmates of Arkham Asylum. Anyway, you'd take all the attention away from the bride."

"Because I'm a freak, or because I'm attractive?" asked Ivy.

"Because you're attractive, of course," said Harleen. "You know I don't think of any of you as freaks, Pamela. You're no different from me, not really. You just need help. Maybe we all do, really," she murmured.

Ivy studied her. "Is something wrong, Dr. Quinzel?" she asked.

"No," said Harleen, hastily. "No, nothing you need to concern yourself with, Pamela. Private matters that shouldn't be discussed professionally."

"Ok," said Ivy, shrugging. "I'd be happy to listen, though. Don't have much else to do in this dump."

Harleen was silent. "You've…dated a lot of men?" she asked, slowly.

"My fair share," said Ivy, nodding. "Enough to know they're mostly scum."

"Have you ever…dated a man, and…been intimate with him, and…found that you just can't stop thinking about him?" asked Harleen. "Like he's infected you with some kinda…obsessive madness? And maybe it's a guy you know you shouldn't be with, but that just makes it even more intoxicating and exciting? And it just seems crazy to throw your entire life away on this one guy, who can't possibly be any good for you, but…all you want to do is give in to that madness?"

"Only with Jason," said Ivy. "Are you talking about your fiance?"

"No, someone else," said Harleen.

"Good," said Ivy. "Because I was gonna say to run as far away from that guy as possible. Nothing good can come of a mad, obsessive love like that. It's not healthy, and it'll end badly. Madness always does – just look at me," she said with a wry smile.

Harleen looked at her. "If someone had told you to run as far away as possible from Jason when you were in love with him, would you have done it?" she asked, quietly. "Or would you have thought whatever happens was worth it?"

"The latter," said Ivy, nodding. "But in hindsight, I see how foolish I was. If I can save another woman from making my mistake and having to endure my pain, why wouldn't I?"

"That's very sensible of you, Pamela," agreed Harleen. "You're making fine progress."

"Enough to sign my release form?" asked Ivy, eagerly.

"Not that fine," retorted Harleen. "Anyway, it's not up to me, remember? It's up to Dr. Leland. I don't think you're a danger to anyone, but then maybe it's a good thing I've got someone else questioning my judgment. God knows I need it," she muttered under her breath.

A knock came on the door. "Come in," called Harleen.

Dr. Joan Leland, head doctor of Arkham Asylum, opened the door. "Harley, a bouquet of flowers was dropped off for you at reception, along with this," she said, handing her a card. "I didn't bring the flowers for obvious reasons," she said, nodding at Ivy. "But you can pick them up after your session."

"Oh…thanks, Joan," said Harleen, taking the card. Dr. Leland nodded at her and left.

"Are the flowers from your fiance?" demanded Ivy. "Because I've suddenly changed my opinion of him!"

"They must be," said Harleen, opening the card. "But he doesn't usually surprise me with…"

She trailed off, reading the card. It was not from Ricky. It was from Jack.

 _Harley,_

 _I know it's crazy of me to contact you like this, but I just can't stop thinking about you, kid. I had to write down my feelings or I'd go mad, and even if I never see you again, I just wanted you to know. The night we had together was the best night of my life. I don't meet a lot of nice girls in the circles I travel in, and I never thought I'd ever be able to go out with one, even for one night. You are the most incredible woman I have ever met. I haven't been able to get your smile or your laugh out of my head – they're driving me crazy, but it's the kinda crazy you never want to be cured of. I probably sound like a fool, and to be honest with you, I feel like a fool. What kinda guy mopes around like this over a girl he can never have? Before I met you, I would have ridiculed people like that, but now I guess I have to laugh at myself. I know you're far too good for me, and I know we can never really be together for so many reasons. But I just needed you to know that what we shared was special to me. I need you to know that I'm spending sleepless nights thinking about you, and wishing you were with me again. I need you to know that you were much more than a one-night stand for me. I know it's crazy to feel like this over someone I barely know, but I think I must be in love with you. It's the only way all this insanity makes sense._

 _Please don't think I hold out any hope of you returning the feeling, or returning to me, because I don't. I just want you to know that I'm crazy about you. If I had a chance in hell of winning you, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. But I don't, and it's for your own good that I don't, believe me. I'm not the kinda guy a nice girl should be with. I just want you to be happy, and you never would be with a guy like me. But please do be happy for my sake, because that's all I want in the world anymore. I want you to smile that gorgeous, sincere smile forever, that smile that lights up the world, and that gave a pathetic guy like me the chance to know what love feels like. I'll always be grateful to you for that._

 _Love,_

 _Jack._

Harleen read the note a couple times to process it, breathing heavily and blushing. "Steamy stuff your fiance wrote, huh?" asked Ivy.

"What?" gasped Harleen, looking up. She had forgotten Ivy was even there. "Um…yes, private stuff," she said, folding the card and putting it into her pocket. "Not suitable for work, really – I'll have words with him. Now let's get back to your session."

But for the rest of the session, Harleen didn't hear a word she was saying. She didn't hear anything but Jack's words. And the moment the session was over and Harleen was alone, she locked the door and read the card again, letting her own fantasies return to the night she and Jack had shared together. He was a criminal, and a gangster…but he loved her. And at the moment, that was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're gonna have pink peonies for your bouquet," declared Harleen's mother. "They'll match your complexion – you'll just look a picture."

"Um…thanks…Mom, but…I'd really prefer something…I dunno, red?" asked Harleen, tentatively. "That's more my color…"

"Pink is a very feminine color, Harley," interrupted her mother. "And matches your complexion, like I said. They'll look great, trust me. I think pink should be the overriding color scheme for the whole wedding in general. It's very fashionable this season too."

"This season?" repeated Harleen. "I…wasn't aware that we'd confirmed the wedding date as being…this season."

"If it was up to you, Harley, we'd never confirm anything," snapped Mrs. Quinzel. "Honestly, I don't know how you became a doctor without being able to make decisions and commit to them! You should have the wedding as soon as possible, and I've confirmed the caterer, the venue, the decorators, the florist, the dress, and the photographer will all be available before the end of summer. So that's when you're having the wedding."

Harleen opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it. What could she actually say to her mother? She didn't want to have the wedding that soon, or ever, because she had had a one-night stand with a gangster who had written her a letter saying he loved her, and she was almost crazy enough to want to love him back? That she was fantasizing about leaving her fiance to hook up with a criminal and a murderer? There were just certain things you could never tell your parents, especially when your parents were as strict and overbearing as Harleen's. Jewish mother syndrome, she thought wryly. Her mother was certainly living up to the stereotype by controlling every aspect of her life, including her entire wedding.

"We'd better start picking out rings, then!" laughed Ricky. "I can't thank you enough for all your help with the planning and arranging, Mrs. Quinzel. Harley and I are both so busy these days, so it's good to have someone looking out for us."

"It's only because you do such a good job looking after my daughter," said Mrs. Quinzel, smiling at Ricky.

"Not on Friday, I didn't," said Ricky, smiling as he draped an arm around Harleen. "This little lady was off for a night on the town with the girls. She didn't come back until late the next morning."

"I don't like the thought of you being out all night, Harleen," said Mrs. Quinzel, frowning. "An engaged young lady shouldn't act like that, wild partying and drinking. You should be settling down in preparation for married life, and children."

"We…don't have to start thinking about that the moment we're married, do we?" asked Harleen, slowly.

"Don't you want kids, Harley?" demanded her mother.

"Of course I do," said Harleen. "I'm just not sure I want them…right away."

"Of course you do," retorted her mother. "You need to start as soon as possible – that old clock's a ticking, you know. And Ricky's going to make such a good father. Anyway, you can't expect your father and me to wait for grandkids. We're both so excited already."

Harleen looked over at her father, who sat quietly reading the newspaper. He was a man of few words, since the conversation was usually monopolized by his wife. And he didn't tend to get excited about anything but the sports page.

"So late August for the date?" asked Ricky, glancing at the calendar.

"I've booked the synagogue for the 30th," said Mrs. Quinzel, nodding. "The rabbi can't wait to see you both."

"Do we…have to have it at the synagogue?" asked Harleen, tentatively. "I'm just not sure I want a traditional Jewish wedding…"

"And what other kind of wedding would you have?" demanded Mrs. Quinzel. "This is your heritage, Harleen. This is a part of who you are."

"But…I don't really practice…I mean, I haven't been to the synagogue in years," said Harleen. "I think I'd just prefer to leave religion out of it and just have…I don't know…a registry wedding."

Mrs. Quinzel looked as if Harleen had just stabbed her. "You don't want it at the synagogue?" she repeated. "You wanna have it in some…government office? Why don't you just slap your ancestors in the face while you're at it, and me along with them! You've found yourself a nice, Jewish boy, Harleen – why wouldn't you want to marry him in a nice, Jewish ceremony? All the family is expecting it, and they're all coming in for the wedding. You'll disappoint everyone if you want to change it to some hideous little courtroom."

"I guess…the synagogue will be fine, then," murmured Harleen, glancing at the floor. She knew for a fact Jack wasn't Jewish – at least he wouldn't pressure her into a wedding ceremony in a synagogue. Not that they would ever be getting married, or that that was even a possibility for them, but she couldn't help but fantasize about it. Her mother would have nothing to do with her wedding to a gangster, and a non-Jew – Harleen would be getting her own way for once. She wondered grimly if throwing her life away as the wife of a criminal wasn't a small price to pay for getting her mother to stop interfering with her life.

Ricky's phone rang suddenly, startling Harleen from her thoughts. "It's work – I just need to take this, Mrs. Quinzel," he said, standing up and heading into the other room. "Excuse me."

"Now for your dress, I've picked out this design," said Mrs. Quinzel, pointing to a picture in a book. "I think a lot of ruffles will look good on you – pad out your thinness. Speaking of which, try and put some meat on your bones before the wedding, won't you, Harley? The photos from the day are gonna be with you the rest of your life, and looking back, you don't wanna see some skinny stick, do you?"

"I don't think there's much I can do about my natural build," said Harleen, quietly.

"Sure there is," said Mrs. Quinzel. "Just eat up. You should come over for dinner more often – I'd fatten you up in no time. Worked for your father, didn't it, George?"

"Yes, dear," said Mr. Quinzel. That was his usual contribution to the conversation.

"Anyway, at least you'll get a good, square meal tonight," continued Mrs. Quinzel. "And you could probably get them every night if you'd just learn to cook for yourself."

"I've tried, Mom," said Harleen. "I just don't think I'm very good at it. It's not something that comes naturally for me."

"You need more practice," said Mrs. Quinzel, authoritatively. "You've gotta be a good cook, Harley, once you have a family. You can't let your husband and children starve just because you don't think it comes naturally to you."

"I guess not," agreed Harleen, idly wondering if Jack could cook. Or if he would mind that she couldn't. He had said she was the most incredible woman he had ever met, but he clearly didn't know her very well. He'd probably change his opinion once he got to know her better, once he knew her flaws. Although clearly he hadn't thought she was too skinny…

She stood up. "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom, Mom. Be right back," she said, heading off down the hall.

She reached the bathroom and locked the door, then sat down by the bathtub and pulled out the card from Jack. She must have read it obsessively a thousand times since she had received it – it was getting creased and battered. She knew every word of it by heart, and so she shut her eyes, trying to imagine Jack writing it, trying to imagine him lying awake at night because of her. She remembered how he had looked at her the first time their eyes met, and the moment after they had made love, the way his green eyes gazed at her in adoration as he leaned down to kiss her…

A knock on the door startled her out of her fantasy. "Harley? You nearly finished?"

"Uh…yes," she stammered, standing up and turning on the sink to pretend to wash her hands. She turned off the water and then opened the door to see Ricky standing there.

"Sorry to rush you, baby, but I gotta go," he said. "Right now. Gordon's doing the raid against Valestra tonight, and he wants everyone along."

Harleen's heart plummeted. "Uh…ok," she said. "Any word if you're gonna get the entire gang?"

He nodded. "Yeah, they're all inside. The comish thinks we're gonna bag 'em all, if it all goes according to plan, of course. But they need me there, so I'll have to miss dinner. Don't wait up," he said, kissing her and hurrying off.

Harleen stared after him, her emotions whirling. She had the strongest desire to follow Ricky, just so she could see Jack again. Just so, if he did get arrested, she could be there to make him smile again. Of course, being present at a police raid of a gangster hideout would be dangerous, and clearly no place for civilians, but the danger might be worth it just to catch a glimpse of Jack. And she could always make the excuse that she was worried about Ricky, that that was the reason she was there, to make sure nothing happened to her fiance. But she hadn't asked Ricky where the raid was, and she couldn't very well call up GCPD and ask.

She didn't concentrate on dinner – she barely listened to her mother's incessant conversation until some words caught her ear.

"Mind you, I don't know how Ricky does it, rushing off into danger like this. He's a good, brave man you've got, Harleen. And who woulda thought that gangsters operate under our very noses? I mean, that place they're raiding, the Aquacade, I thought it had been abandoned for years…"

"Sorry, where did you say the raid was, Mom?" interrupted Harleen.

"The Aquacade," repeated Mrs. Quinzel. "You know, that ten-storey building on West Avenue…"

"Yeah, I know it," interrupted Harleen, standing up suddenly. "Sorry, Mom and Dad, I gotta go too. Dr. Leland's just texted me with a patient emergency."

"You should finish your matzah balls first, Harley – you need to fatten yourself up, remember?" asked Mrs. Quinzel.

"Sorry, Mom, but the patients can't wait," said Harleen, grabbing her purse. "They're crazy. If I'm too late, something terrible might happen."

It might indeed, she thought, running down the stairs of the apartment. She might miss the raid - Jack might be arrested and locked up before she could see him. She could only hope she wouldn't be too late.


	6. Chapter 6

"This is Commissioner Gordon! We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!" shouted Gordon into a megaphone. Dozens of squad cars with flashing lights surrounded the Aquacade building, while searchlights probed the windows in hopes of catching sight of one of the gangsters, but the building was completely dark, with no sign of movement from within.

"You sure they're in there, comish?" asked Detective Bullock.

"Of course I'm sure," snapped Gordon. "I wouldn't have authorized the raid and got everyone here if I wasn't. You think I don't have better things to do than waste police time?"

"So what do we do now?" asked Bullock. "I mean, I guess we should have expected them to be uncooperative…"

"We go in there and drag them out," retorted Gordon. "Everyone, buddy up!" he called at the assembled group of police officers. "I'm sending two teams in, one at a time. Sorkin, Henderson, you're up first. Head in there and watch each other's backs. Remember, I want them brought out alive if possible. Shoot to kill if you have to, but only if you have to. I want them to stand trial and face justice. Let's move."

"Gotta say, I'd feel better if the comish wanted 'em dead," muttered Ricky's partner, Matt Henderson, as he and Ricky donned body armor and extra weapons. "I prefer to shoot first and ask questions later with scum like this."

"Me too," agreed Ricky. "But if we did that, lawyers would be outta a job."

"And what a shame that would be, buncha parasites," muttered Matt. "Their job is just to undo all our hard work by letting criminals off and out on the streets again. Them and shrinks do more harm than good, if you ask me."

"Hey, my fiancee's a shrink," retorted Ricky. "So watch what you say about her."

"Harley's a great gal," agreed Matt. "But she's part of a bigger problem. You know Arkham Asylum is just a revolving door prison for the worst and most dangerous of humanity. If the shrinks had any sense of decency, they'd lock up those monsters and throw away the key."

"I don't think anyone in the Valestra gang is getting off on an insanity plea, Matt," said Ricky, as they headed toward the building. "And even if they did, Harley's smart enough to know that these are the kinda people who should never be let out. We were talking about it just the other day, actually, and she agreed – some people are just evil to the core and can't be helped. Valestra and every one of his gang are."

"Which is why I'd prefer to shoot first and ask questions later," agreed Matt. "We're just wasting taxpayers' money bringing these bastards to trial. They've all done more than enough to deserve death."

"That's not our call," said Ricky. "We have to do the right thing, Matt, and we're doing this operation by the book. It's what the comish wants."

They silenced as they stood in front of the door to the Aquacade. Then, with a nod at each other, they kicked down the door, heading inside with their guns raised. "GCPD!" called Ricky. "Put down your guns and come out with your hands up!"

There was nothing but silence and darkness from inside. Ricky and Matt searched the ground floor carefully, when they suddenly heard the creak of a floorboard from the floor above them. They shared a look, and then slowly made their way up the flight of stairs. "GCPD!" repeated Ricky. "Put down the guns and come out with your hands up!"

There was still nothing but silence and darkness on this floor, but Ricky suddenly heard the creak of the floorboard again, coming from a room to the right of them with the door open. He nodded at it, and Matt nodded back in acknowledgement, heading slowly inside with Ricky following.

Ricky suddenly heard a bang and saw a flash of light, and then felt something collide hard with the back of his skull. He fell to the ground, winded, as the overhead light suddenly snapped on. Temporarily blinded by the light, Ricky tried to push himself up, but suddenly felt a pool of something wet beneath his hands. He saw that it was blood, and looked at the ground next to him, and froze in shock and horror as he saw Matt's corpse lying in a pool of blood – he had been shot in the head.

Ricky suddenly felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his own skull as he was hauled roughly to his feet. He managed to catch a glimpse of the man holding the gun to his head, a grinning man with green eyes.

"Hiya, copper!" chuckled the man. "You're coming with me!"

…

Harleen arrived at the police raid and pushed her way to the front of the gathered crowd. "Detective Bullock!" she called, recognizing a familiar face.

"Harley?" said Bullock, surprised. "It's ok – let her through!" he said to the policemen who manned the barriers. They obeyed, and Harleen raced over to him.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Is the raid over?"

Bullock shook his head. "Just started. Ricky's already gone in with Matt, and the comish has just sent another pair in. What are you doing here?"

"I…was worried about my fiance," said Harleen, she hoped sincerely. "Any sign of the gangsters?"

"Nothing yet," replied Bullock. "But that doesn't mean…hang on," he said, as the radio at his belt crackled.

"Sir…it's a trap," said a voice on the other end, a voice that was abruptly silenced by the sound of a gunshot.

Gordon grabbed his radio. "All units, get out of there!" he shouted into it. "Sorkin, Henderson, Strong, Charendoff, do you read me?"

There was radio silence from the other end, and Harleen felt her heart plummeting. "Sorkin, Henderson, Strong, Charendoff, do you read me?" repeated Gordon.

"Nope, none of 'em read you, comish," chuckled a voice from a window. "They're all dead, except for this one here."

The searchlight and all eyes focused on the second floor window, where Jack Napier held Ricky Sorkin in front of him, pressing a gun to his head. Ricky struggled, but Jack's grip on him was firm, and he pressed the gun harder into his temple the more he struggled. "So here's how this is gonna go, comish," said another voice, as Sal Valestra appeared next to them. "My boys and me are leaving here unharmed, unless you want a hole blown through this pig's skull, just like they've been blown through all his little pig friends. I promise you, Jack took great pleasure in killing 'em, and he'll take great pleasure in killing this one too, unless you do exactly what I say. Two of my boys are in a car out the back – you clear that exit completely and the piggy lives to fight another day. You refuse, and it's one less cop in this town, which suits me fine."

Valestra lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke, smiling. "Your choice, comish," he said.

Gordon glared at him, and then reluctantly commanded, "Remove the barriers. I want all men removed from the back exit. Leave it clear."

He nodded to Bullock, who nodded back, and then raised the radio to his lips and murmured something. Harleen couldn't hear anything else but the word, "sniper."

She looked up at that moment to see that a man was positioned on the roof opposite the Aquacade, and she saw the bead of his gun focus carefully on Sal Valestra.

"Good man!" laughed Valestra, who seemed to notice nothing amiss. "I admire that, comish, I really do. A guy who looks out for his companions should always be rewarded…"

Jack suddenly removed his gun from Ricky's skull and fired at the sniper. The bullet caught him in the skull and he slumped down instantly, falling off the roof and hitting the ground with a crunch.

"Thank you, Jack," murmured Valestra, grinning as Jack pressed the gun back against Ricky's temple. "See, loyalty, that's important. And so is keeping your word. You break yours, comish, and I have no problem breaking mine. Jack," he said, smiling. "Kill the pig."

Jack smiled, cocking the gun against Ricky's head. And Harleen, who had been frozen in horror throughout the whole situation, suddenly felt that horror burst out of her. "No!" she shrieked, shoving her way forward. "Ricky, no!"

Jack's eyes suddenly fell on her, and his smile dropped as the slow realization of who his hostage was sank into his green eyes. Harleen gazed back at him pleadingly, although a tiny, horrible part of her almost wanted him to pull the trigger. Ricky didn't deserve to die, but if he did, she would be free. But she could never be with the man who killed her fiance, even her darkest self wouldn't stoop that low. Jack seemed to realize that too, and he gazed at her, struggling to decide what to do. Harleen could see in his own eyes his desperate desire not to hurt her, and he knew the murder of her fiance would hurt her. But Harleen also knew that if he defied his boss in his wishes, the consequences could be severe for him. She didn't want to hurt him either. And so they just stared at each other, locked in each other's eyes, fear and desperation and uncontrollable love being shared between them.

"Jack," repeated Valesta, a little annoyed and confused. "I said kill the pig."

Jack took a deep breath, and Harleen saw his finger tighten on the trigger. "Jack, please…" she whispered, almost unconsciously.

"Kill the pig!" shouted Valestra, furious now.

Jack looked at Harleen, and she saw him mouth, "I'm sorry."

And then he suddenly shoved Ricky forward, sending him crashing through the window. He landed on the street below, breaking his fall with his hands, slightly injured, but mostly unharmed. Harleen rushed over to him. "Oh my God, Ricky, are you ok?" she gasped, breathlessly.

"Broken wrist, I think," he hissed, clutching his arm. "But it could be worse."

Paramedics rushed over to him, and Harleen glanced up to see Valestra shrieking in fury at Jack. "Sorry, boss, he slipped outta my grip!" exclaimed Jack.

With the human shield removed, the other police officers started firing at the window, and Valestra and Jack hastily disappeared. Harleen looked around desperately for them as Gordon shouted, "Surround the building! Don't let them get away!"

The paramedics had completely descended on Ricky, so Harleen raced around to the back of the building. She got there just as the police did, but her keen eyes spotted Valestra and Jack climbing across the roof to a neighboring building.

"I saw them!" she shrieked suddenly, pointing at the opposite neighboring building. "They've just disappeared into there!"

"Come on!" shouted one of the policemen, and the others followed him, leaving the back courtyard clear. Harleen hastily scaled the fire escape, and saw Valestra and Jack descending the neighboring one across the fence that separated the two buildings. She saw the getaway car waiting for them in the alley between the two, with two other men inside.

"Swear to God, Jack, you nearly got us killed!" Valestra was muttering. "You don't screw up when you work for me, or there'll be consequences, you got that?! Because if you don't, you'll be getting it very soon!"

"Yes, boss," muttered Jack, as they descended to street level. Valestra opened the car door, and that was when Jack looked up and noticed Harleen standing on the fire escape. She smiled down at him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded. "Whatever happens, it's worth it to see you smile, kid," he murmured.

He opened the back door, and Harleen suddenly called, "Jack!"

He looked up. "I love you too," she whispered.

He smiled, and opened his mouth to respond, when Valestra suddenly shouted, "Jack, get in the goddamn car, or we're leaving you to the cops! You screw up the hostage situation, but you're not screwing up the getaway!"

Jack hastily climbed into the car and slammed the door. He and Harleen held each other's gaze until the car was lost to sight. The moment his smile disappeared, Harleen's did too, as she slowly climbed down the steps and headed back to Ricky.


	7. Chapter 7

"How you feeling, Ricky?" asked Harleen, gently, as she was admitted into the hospital room where Ricky lay. His wrist was bandaged, and some cuts and lacerations he had suffered were also cleaned up. He was reading some papers from the many that were spread all over his bed.

"As well as can be expected," he replied, not looking up.

"Aw, c'mon," said Harleen, smiling at him. "If I know my Ricky, a little broken wrist ain't gonna get him down…"

"It's not the wrist," he interrupted, looking at her. "My partner's dead. Matt's dead, Harley. Three fellow officers, four including the sniper, were heartlessly gunned down in cold blood by a deranged maniac. If I'm honest with you, I feel a little guilty for being here when they aren't. What gave me the right to survive?"

"Oh, hey, you shouldn't feel guilty," said Harleen gently, coming over to take his good hand and sit next to him. "You were lucky, Ricky. That's all."

"Lucky," he repeated. "I don't feel lucky."

Harleen studied him. "What is it?" she asked. "It's not just the guys' deaths that's bothering you, is it?"

Ricky forced a smile. "You're a good shrink, Harley," he said, touching her cheek. "And you know me too well. No, the murders are mostly what's bothering me, but there's something else nagging away in the back of my mind too."

He gazed at her. "Why…did that gangster let me go?"

"He didn't let you go, Ricky," said Harleen. "You slipped out of his grip and fell…"

"He pushed me," interrupted Ricky. "I felt him push me. He could have shot me in the head, ended my life easily, just like he had all my companions. But he didn't. He saved my life by shoving me out of the window. Why would he do that?"

Harleen shrugged. "Sudden change of heart, maybe?"

"Maybe," agreed Ricky. "But that don't sound like Jack Napier."

He gestured to the papers on his bed, and the file they came from. "I asked for some info on him, and everything I've read just confirms what I already know. He's a sick bastard, a sadistic psychopath, who enjoys killing and finds it funny. I saw him grinning after he shot Matt myself."

Harleen took the file, scanning it silently. She flipped a page to see Jack's mugshot, and her heart began to beat wildly as she stared at the handsome face of the man she loved. She could no longer deny that to herself. What she felt for him was stronger than anything she had ever felt before, certainly stronger than anything she felt for Ricky. And even though Jack was a cop killer, and had probably done worse than that, all she could focus on was what he had done for her. How he had risked his own life to let her fiance live. He was a bad man, but he had done a heroic deed for her sake. And that act of unselfishness and love somehow erased all of his crimes in Harleen's eyes. If he was willing to do that for her, he couldn't be all bad. He couldn't be the monster these notes claimed he was.

"Is there anything in there that you can spot?" asked Ricky. "About why he would let me go? You're a shrink, after all – you're good at analyzing people. And you're a helluva lot smarter than me anyday."

"Well, I…dunno," stammered Harleen. She shrugged. "I mean, I was there and screamed your name…maybe he saw me and thought he didn't wanna hurt an attractive girl by killing the man she loves."

"You think Jack Napier is actually that noble?" asked Ricky. "Didn't you read his file?"

"Maybe he didn't think too much about it," said Harleen. "Or maybe I resembled someone close to him, like his mother or…someone he loved once. Maybe that moved a kind of subconscious compassion in him toward me that meant he couldn't kill the man I love."

"Maybe," agreed Ricky. He frowned. "I'm not sure I like the idea that a creep like Jack Napier has seen you, and you resemble someone close to him. Who knows what a psycho like that could do with that information? He could stalk you or something, become obsessed with having you…"

"I wouldn't worry about things like that, Ricky," interrupted Harleen. "He probably has better things to do with his time. Anyway, his boss will probably punish him for screwing up and letting you get away, so he might be outta action for a while."

"Good," muttered Ricky. "Hope Valestra hurts him bad, the sick freak."

Harleen was silent. "You know I don't like that word, Ricky," she murmured.

"What, freak?" he asked. "I think it's appropriate to use in relation to Jack Napier, don't you? What else would you call a guy who gets off on hurting people?"

"A sick man," said Harleen. "Who needs help."

"Nobody can help a guy like that, Harley – you can't tell me they can," retorted Ricky. "He's evil to the core. You'd know that if you'd seen him smiling after he killed Matt…"

"Don't think about it, Ricky," murmured Harleen soothingly, hugging him gently.

"I can't help it," he murmured. "I see it in front of my eyes every time I close them. Matt, who I was talking to not ten minutes before, lying in a pool of his own blood, and Napier laughing…"

"Ricky, c'mon," whispered Harleen, cupping his face in her hands. "Try to forget about it for now. Let your body heal first, and then we'll get you some counseling…"

"I don't want counseling," he retorted. "I don't need it. I just need Napier to pay for what he's done. I need to see him dead."

"Ricky, I don't want to see you killed over some ridiculous vendetta," said Harleen. "Napier's a dangerous man. If you want to bring him to justice, you work with Gordon to bring in the gang, not go off on your own on some suicide mission to avenge your dead friends. That's a perfect way to get yourself killed."

Ricky took a deep breath. "You're right, baby," he said, kissing her. "You're right. We have to do the right thing. By the book. Otherwise we're no better than criminal scum like Napier."

"That's my good cop," said Harleen, smiling at him.

He smiled back, and kissed her again. "I dunno what I'd do without you, Harley," he whispered. "I mean, horrible stuff happens to me every day as a cop, but I only get through it because I know your beautiful, smiling face is waiting for me when I get home. God only knows what I'd be like without you. I'd go crazy."

Harleen felt her insides twist in guilt. As much as she loved Jack, there was no way she could break up with Ricky, not now after he had gone through such a horrible experience. And she definitely couldn't break up with him to tell him she was in love with the man who had murdered his partner and his friends, and almost killed him. That would completely destroy Ricky.

"Well…I ain't going anywhere, baby," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "Now why don't you try to forget all this dark stuff for now and get some rest?" she asked, gathering up the papers from his bed and replacing them in the file. "I'm gonna take this away with me, and you're gonna try to get some sleep. Doctor's orders."

"I always listen to my doctor," said Ricky, smiling at her. He kissed her again, and then Harleen turned off the light and left him, Jack's file tucked under her arm.

The moment she was home, she opened a bottle of wine, and then read everything the file contained. Every detail of Jack Napier's numerous crimes, murder, robbery, arson, torture, mutilation, burglary, kidnapping, it was all there. Harleen had hoped by reading it that she might be appalled by the man, that these horrible actions on his part would kill her feelings of love. But they didn't. They only made them stronger.

"Something's wrong with me," she muttered to herself, burying her face in her hands. "Horribly wrong."

If Ricky knew the truth, he wouldn't want her anymore, she knew that. He deserved someone so much better, someone who truly loved him for the hero and the good man he was. Harleen wished she could be that woman, but she couldn't. She wasn't. Her feelings were uncontrollable, and they were obsessed with the bad and the criminal. That kind of man excited her in ways she had never been excited by Ricky.

"Freak," she muttered, draining her wine glass. "A freak, that's what I am."

But she couldn't hurt Ricky by telling him. She couldn't break his heart, not even to satisfy her own. She supposed she did sort of love him that way – she wanted to protect him from harm. And she wanted to protect herself. She couldn't bear to think about the eventual hatred she would see in his eyes when he looked at her, when her parents looked at her, when everyone looked at her as they looked at her patients at Arkham.

Harleen had seen the orderlies and the guards and even some of the doctors, and the looks of loathing, contempt, and fear they had shot at the inmates. Those looks directed at her would hurt more than bullets. She didn't know how Jack dealt with it, being a bad man and having the weight and judgement of the world cast upon him all day and every day. He had to be a very strong man. Harleen wasn't strong enough to bear that. She was still a coward.

But before she went to bed that night, she took Jack's mugshot out of the file, kissed it, and then placed it carefully under her pillow. "Night, Jack," she whispered. "Wherever you are, I hope you're safe."


	8. Chapter 8

"Harley, there's a man at reception to see you," said Dr. Leland, opening the door to Harleen's office. "He didn't give his name, but he's got his arm in a sling."

"That'll be my fiance," said Harleen, standing up with a frown. "That's funny – I didn't know they'd let him out of the hospital yet. He probably didn't tell me just so he could pleasantly surprise me like this."

"Sounds like he does a lot of nice surprises for you, your fiance," said Dr. Leland, as they walked back to reception. "I hope you'll bring him here to meet everyone one day. Or you could introduce him now."

"Sure," said Harleen. "He tends to avoid Arkham since he's put a lotta people in here personally – he's a police officer. But I'm sure he won't mind meeting…"

She froze as they arrived at reception to see, not Ricky, but Jack standing there. "Uh…won't mind meeting…my colleagues," Harleen managed to stammer. "Um...Joan, this is…my fiance. Ricky, this is Dr. Joan Leland, my boss."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Ricky," said Dr. Leland, smiling at Jack. "I won't shake your hand," she said, nodding at his bandaged arm. "But I just wanted to thank you in person for all the good work you do to prevent lawlessness in this city. And for how happy you make Harley, of course."

"Well, that's the real pleasure, Doc," said Jack, smiling back. "I'm just crazy about Harley. She's a real find, a one in a million kinda gal."

He winked at her, and Harleen felt her heart speeding up. "I'll leave you two alone – I hope your arm feels better soon, Ricky," said Dr. Leland, heading off to her office.

Harleen just stared at Jack, her heart pounding. Then she shook her head and muttered, "Come with me, someplace where we can talk privately."

She led him down the hall to her own office, and then shut and locked the door. "What on earth are you doing here?" she demanded, turning to him.

"Well, that's not really the reception I expected from a gal who apparently loves me," replied Jack, grinning. "Ain't you happy to see me?"

"Of course I am," she retorted. "But it's dangerous for you to be here. Someone could recognize you…"

"I doubt it," said Jack. "Unless any of the doctors here have a photographic memory for petty criminals. I ain't that big a name in the criminal underworld for my face to be notorious or recognizable. Yet," he added with a smile. "Anyway, I just had to see you, toots, or I'd go crazy. I can't get you outta my head."

"I…can't get you outta mine either," admitted Harleen. "And Ricky can't get you out of his. He was talking crazy about needing to see you dead for what you did."

"He can try – lots of people have," chuckled Jack. "And yet, here I am, still breathing."

"What happened to your arm?" asked Harleen, nodding at the sling.

Jack grimaced. "Sal's displeasure," he muttered. "I break the cop's wrist, so he breaks mine. I guess it's kinda fair, but it's my good gun hand, so I won't be able to shoot for a little while. I mean, I can use my left if necessary, but I ain't as good a shot. And it's murder trying to smoke with one hand," he said, reaching for his cigarette packet and fumbling to pull one out. Harleen helped him, lighting it for him and handing it back. Jack inhaled deeply from it. "How's the cop anyway?" he asked.

"Ricky's doing fine," replied Harleen. "Very upset about his friends' deaths, as you can imagine, but…physically, he's recovering well."

"Good," said Jack. "I'm sorry he broke his wrist, but it really was the only way I could save his life. He's one of the few cops who have gone up against me and lived to tell about it, actually!" he chuckled.

Harleen was silent. "I'm…sorry, does it bother you, knowing what I am?" asked Jack, slowly. "What I've done? When I saw you at the raid, my biggest fear was that you'd be disappointed in me, and afraid of me. I didn't want you find out what I was like that."

"It doesn't bother me," said Harleen. "Ricky…got your file from GCPD after the raid, and I read it cover to cover. I know everything you've done."

"Oh. Everything?" he asked, looking apprehensive.

She nodded. "From that time you stole a kid's bike in fifth grade."

"Hey, he should have locked it up if he didn't want it to get stolen," said Jack, shrugging. "I was teaching Harry Conner a good lesson for the future about guarding your valuable property. That's what school's all about, after all, teaching stuff, or so they say. Never did me any good," he chuckled, puffing out his cigarette.

Harleen continued to just look at him, and he frowned again. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't joke about the things I've done. They're not funny."

"You seem to think they are," retorted Harleen. "The file says you often laugh while you're committing them."

"I have…kinda a twisted sense of humor," admitted Jack. He puffed on his cigarette again. "I don't really like you knowing all that," he said. "It makes me feel kinda naked. I mean, not that I mind being naked in front of you, kid!" he laughed. "But it's kinda like…all my sins are laid bare, and you're judging me for them. If you believe in things like sin, of course."

"I have no right to judge you," murmured Harleen. "Or anyone. I've never…committed a crime myself. I've never really done anything bad, except cheat on my fiance with a gangster, of course," she added. "But I have…such bad thoughts, all the time. And they don't repel me. They excite me. Like you do."

She approached him. "I know what you are. I know everything about you, all your crimes, all your dark secrets, and I still love you. And now I want you to know everything about me." She drew in a deep breath. "You said…you thought I was a nice girl. I'm not. I'm a very, very bad girl. When you had the gun to Ricky's head…a small part of me wanted you to kill him, so we could be together. I don't feel any shame remembering what we did together – it thrills me to think I cheated on my fiance with a criminal. The only thing I regret is that…we didn't have more time to explore…the things that make us tick in the bedroom. I always wanted to feel what it would be like…for someone to treat me…roughly in bed. To maybe play around with a little violence. Ricky isn't that type of guy, but a bad man like you is."

"Well, I do usually enjoy…a little rough-housing," agreed Jack. "But I didn't need it with you, kid. I love you, and I didn't wanna hurt you…"

"But I kinda wanna be hurt," she murmured. "I just wanna see how it feels. I know it's not right, and I know it's not what good girls want. But I'm not a good girl, you see. Not really, not deep down. That's why I'm not happy with Ricky. That's why I went out and had a one-night stand with you. I can't be who I truly am in the life I have now – if my fiance or my parents or my colleagues knew what I was really like, they'd be appalled. They'd shun me, like they shun all bad people. But a bad guy can understand me. He can accept me, and love me. I think that's why I can't stop thinking about you, Jack. I think you're perfect for me, because deep down inside, I think we're both bad people. The only difference is, you're not ashamed of who you are. I am."

She had lowered her head in shame, and felt Jack gently tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes. "Hey," he said. "I love _you,_ kid. All of you. I love the nice girl I met on the subway, and I love the bad girl she has the potential to become. I may not know all of you as well as you know me, but I wanna spend the rest of my life getting to know all of you. Especially the real special parts, the parts of yourself you wouldn't show to anyone else, like your darker side. I'm honored that you love me enough to share that with me, your secret self that you've never shown anyone else. It just makes me love you more."

Harleen let out a sob, and then kissed him passionately. She felt her body immediately react with his, throbbing with a sudden need for more, and in the heat of the moment, she didn't resist it. She grabbed his tie and then pulled him down on top of her on the therapy couch. Her hands began clawing at his shirt, and his free hand slid down her waist, across her bottom, and into her skirt. "Now nice girls don't do this," he whispered, grinning at her.

"I told you, I ain't a nice girl," she whispered, grinning back. "A nice girl couldn't be with someone like you. But I wanna be, more than anything else in the world. I'm a bad girl. Show me how you treat a bad girl."

He needed no second bidding. They tried to keep the noise to a minimum, as the walls of Harleen's office weren't sound proof, but she was unable to resist occasional cries of pain and pleasure at what Jack did to her. It was completely unlike any experience she had ever had, in the best possible way.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered, as she helped Jack light up a post-coital cigarette. "Jesus Christ, that was amazing. Not that I should be using his name to describe anything amazing, being a good Jewish girl. Or rather, a bad Jewish girl, clearly," she said, smiling at him.

"You're Jewish?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, tentatively. "I mean…not practicing or anything, but…is that a problem?"

"Of course not," he retorted. "Why would it be?"

She managed a nervous laugh. "I dunno," she said. "I just think there's gotta be something about me, some deal-breaking thing, that'll make you not wanna be with me anymore. Because you're too good to be true otherwise."

"Kid, I don't judge," he said, shrugging. "I'm not in a position to. And I especially don't judge people for things they can't control, like their heritage. I love you for all you are, like I said. Jewish, non-Jewish, good, bad, perfect, flawed, whatever. Anyway, any flaws you got can't be worse than mine."

"Maybe not," agreed Harleen. "Mom says I'm too skinny."

Jack chuckled. "Well, I think you probably know my opinion of your body by now," he murmured, kissing her. "If too skinny means completely perfect, then yeah, you're too skinny."

"I can't cook," she continued. "Is that a problem?"

"Nope," he retorted, grinning. "I can. So you won't get rid of me that easily."

She giggled. "Oh God, Jack, I just want to be with you," she whispered, cuddling against him. "No matter what the cost."

"Then do it," he said, touching her cheek gently. "Come with me, Harley. Leave here with me now, run away from all this, and never look back."

Harleen shook her head. "I can't just abandon Ricky," she murmured, standing up and getting dressed. "Not after all our years together. Besides, he'd scour Gotham to find me if I just disappeared. I can't run away from my promise to him either. If I want to end our engagement, I have to find the courage to tell him the truth, as unpleasant as it may be for both of us. He's been good to me, and he deserves that."

Jack nodded slowly. "Ok. If you think that's best, I'll respect your wishes," he said, pulling his own clothes on. "Just let me know when you've done it, and I'll be waiting. You call me," he said, slipping a card into her pocket with his number on it.

Harleen nodded. "I will find the courage to do it somehow. For you, Jack. And then we can be together, with no restrictions and no complications. Just two bad, horrible people madly in love with each other."

They kissed tenderly at the door to her office. "You look after your wrist now," she murmured, grinning. "No gunplay for a month."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, grinning back. "I need to be in good shape for rough-housing with my girlfriend, anyway."

Harleen kissed him again, and then whispered, "Bye."

"Bye, Harley," he said, heading off down the hall.

"I love you!" called Harleen after him.

"I don't – I was only joking!" he called back with a grin.

Harleen glared at him, and he laughed, rushing back over to her. "Of course I love you, you little minx," he murmured, kissing her. "Now more than ever, because I've caught a glimpse of the real Harley. And I'm even crazier about her."

Harleen giggled. They kissed again, and then Jack headed out of Arkham. Harleen watched him leave, and then shut the door, wondering how she was ever going to tell Ricky.


	9. Chapter 9

Harleen waited to tell Ricky. And waited. And waited. As much as her heart ached to be with Jack, the very thought of telling Ricky the truth was almost too much to face. Besides, he was still in a dark place psychologically – his physical wound had almost healed, but his mental ones were still raw. To push him any further into depression and despair at this point might break him.

But she finally resolved to do it one night. Ricky had been obsessively studying Jack's file, locking himself away in his study, and Harleen knocked on his door. "Hey, I've made dinner," she said. "Well, ordered a takeaway, which is as close as I can get to cooking," she added with a grin.

He grunted, barely acknowledging her. "Uh…you wanna join me?" she asked. "I kinda got something…I need to talk to you about."

"Can't it wait, baby?" he asked, not looking up. "I'm kinda busy here…"

"It's…kinda important," said Harleen, carefully.

He sighed heavily, standing up and following her into the dining room. Harleen had laid out the takeaway and poured some wine, and Ricky grabbed his glass and downed it as he sat down. "So what is it?" he asked.

Harleen cleared her throat. "Well…you might question my timing about this, but…there's never a good time to have this conversation, really…"

He looked at her. "You're pregnant?" he asked.

Harleen managed a nervous laugh. "No, that's not it. I'm not pregnant."

"Good," he said. "Your folks would kill us if you got pregnant before we were married. Though I guess it's close enough to the wedding that they wouldn't have to know."

"It's not that," repeated Harleen. "It's…"

She trailed off, wondering how on earth to start this conversation. She decided to just start at the beginning. "Look, Ricky, the day of my engagement party, when I was riding the subway home, I got talking with…this guy…"

Ricky's phone rang suddenly. "Hold that thought, babe," he said. "It's work. Hello?"

Harleen watched as his face creased into a deep frown as he listened. "You're gonna let me in on this, huh, comish?" he asked. "Why not? My wrist has healed enough…"

He listened further, standing up. "Comish, I've passed all the psych tests. You can ask Harley – she's a qualified shrink. You've gotta let me do this. For Matt."

There was a long silence, and then Ricky's face lit up. "Thanks, comish, you won't regret this," he said. He hung up the phone. "That was the comish," he said. "He's planning another raid on Valestra's current hideout, and he's positive we're taking 'em by surprise this time. We're not gonna warn 'em, and the comish says he doesn't care about taking 'em alive anymore, not after what they've done. This time, we go in there, guns blazing. If they surrender, great, if not, the comish has got the authority from the governor to stop them from inflicting further terror on this city by any means necessary. I swear to God, I'm pulling the trigger that guns Jack Napier down myself. I swear on Matt's grave."

"Oh," stammered Harleen. "Now, Ricky…don't you think you should maybe…leave this to the others?"

"Why?" he demanded. "I'm fine to go back to work."

"Yes, but…in your emotional state…you might do something stupid, make a stupid mistake…" began Harleen.

"I'll be fine, baby," he interrupted, heading into the bedroom to dress in his uniform. "Anyway, I'm not going to let anyone else kill Jack Napier but me."

"He saved your life, Ricky," reminded Harleen. "For whatever reason…"

"And he took the lives of my friends," retorted Ricky. "His good deed toward me, even if it was meant for a good reason, doesn't absolve him from the murder of my fellow officers. And I'm going to make him pay personally."

"Ricky, please don't," pleaded Harleen. "Please just…"

"What?" he interrupted, rounding on her angrily. "Why are you defending him?"

Harleen stared at him, but she couldn't tell him the truth. He just seemed so unstable, and in his current state, she wasn't sure the revelation wouldn't result in physical harm toward her, or toward himself. He was already heading off to confront Jack in a heightened emotional state. She didn't want to add to his chances of making a fatal mistake by heightening that even further.

"I'm just…worried about you," she said.

"Don't be," he said, kissing her forehead. "This is what I do, babe."

He grabbed his gun. "We have a quick briefing at the station, and then we're heading straight to the hideout to bust them. Don't wait up."

He kissed her again and then left. Harleen acted instantly, racing into the bedroom to retrieve Jack's number from where she had hidden it, and dialing hastily. "C'mon, pick up, pick up," she hissed, as the phone rang, and then went to voicemail. She tried again, to the same effect. "Oh God, Jack, where are you?" she whispered.

She tried a third time, and her heart leapt in relief as she heard a voice on the other end. "Hello?"

"Jack!" she gasped. "Wherever you are, get the hell outta there now! The cops are coming to bust you!"

"Harley?" he said, but his voice instantly cut out, and she heard only choppy words. "Can't hear you…bad signal here…factory…"

"Jack, leave now!" she shrieked. "Go, please! The cops are coming!"

"Sweets…sound upset…call you…when I get…Ace…"

The signal cut out suddenly, and Harleen stared in horror at the phone. "He didn't hear me," she gasped.

Her brain began to panic as she grew more desperate to warn Jack before something terrible could happen to him. "I have to find him," she whispered. "I have to find out where he is and warn him in person…"

She recalled the brief snippets of their conversation…if the signal wasn't good, that meant he had to be out of the city center, and he had mentioned a factory…

She hurried over to the bookshelf, grabbing out a map of Gotham and its outskirts and unfolding it. She glanced hurriedly over all the marked factories, until her eyes fell on one. "Ace," she whispered. "He said Ace. Ace Chemicals, that must be it."

It was her only hope of being able to warn him in time anyway, she thought, grabbing her keys and then racing down the stairs to her car. She sped off in the direction of the factory, praying, for the second time in recent memory, that she wasn't too late.


	10. Chapter 10

Ace Chemicals, like the Aquacade, seemed, from all outside appearances, to be deserted as Harleen drove through its rusty gates. The factory's broken windows gaped lifelessly open, but Harleen thought she could just barely make out a strange, green glow coming from inside.

She carefully made her way through the front doors of the factory, where the green glow grew stronger. She saw that it was coming from huge vats of chemicals that lined the floor. "Jack?" she called, her voice echoing around the giant chamber. "Jack?"

She suddenly felt an arm tightened around her waist as someone seized her from behind. A blade pressed into her cheek as an unpleasant, unfamiliar voice hissed, "Well, well, well, what have we got here?"

"Back off, creep!" snapped Harleen, whose desperation to warn Jack made her more irritable than afraid. She raised her arm and elbowed the figure who held her in the face. She heard a satisfying crack, and then he yelped in pain, releasing her and dropping the knife as both hands flew to cup his nose.

"You'll pay for that, you little bitch!" he hissed, as Harleen grabbed the dropped knife and turned to face him.

"I'm not afraid of you," snapped Harleen. "Where's Jack Napier?"

"Who wants to know?" demanded the man.

"His girlfriend," retorted Harleen.

"Girlfriend, eh?" asked the man, eyeing Harleen up and down. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but he's busy. But if bad guys are your type, you and me can get to know each other a little better, huh?"

"I said, back off, creep!" shouted Harleen, holding the knife in front of her. "Just take me to see Jack! It's urgent!"

"Harley?" said a voice. Harleen looked up to see Jack emerging from an office above the vats. He beamed at her. "Kid, what are you doing here?" he asked, racing down the stairs.

"Jack!" gasped Harleen in relief, dropping the knife and leaping into his arms. "Oh, thank God I found you in time!"

"In time for what?" he asked, puzzled. "Hey, Buzz, beat it," he snapped at the man who had threatened Harleen. "A guy and his girlfriend tend to want privacy. You'd know that if you ever had a girlfriend, but I guess there ain't too many dames lining up for the dumb, scrawny, and ugly type."

Buzz glared at him. "You think you're so funny, Jack," he muttered. "But you ain't. And your joking's gonna get you into trouble one day."

"I doubt it," retorted Jack. "Now beat it."

Buzz skulked back up the stairs toward the office. "And now I can greet you properly, sweets," said Jack, smiling as he turned to Harleen and leaned forward to kiss her.

"There's no time," interrupted Harleen. "You have to get out of here now. Come on," she said, taking his hand and trying to drag him away.

"Woah, woah, woah, I can't just abandon the guys," said Jack. "Running out on them in the middle of a meeting is gonna result in worse than my wrist being broken by Sal."

"Sal's the least of your worries," retorted Harleen. "The cops are coming, with Ricky. They know you're here, and they're not intending to arrest you this time. You have to get out of here," she repeated, tugging at his hand.

Jack nodded. "Well, when you put it like that, I've gotta agree with you, kid," he said, following Harleen as they ran toward the exit together.

They froze at the doorway, seeing the sudden reflection of flashing lights in the broken glass, and hearing the crackle of the gravel as the wheels of multiple police cars descended into the front courtyard of Ace Chemicals.

"We're too late," whispered Harleen. "They're here."

Jack grabbed her hand and dragged her in the opposite direction. "C'mon," he said. "We'll head for the back way across the platforms. Hopefully once they break in here, they'll be too distracted shooting at the gang to notice us slipping out."

"Hopefully," agreed Harleen, although she was terrified as she heard the front door bang open, and booted footsteps head into the factory. Jack ducked behind a vat, pulling Harleen down next to him, and they both held their breath as the men stormed past, heading for the office where the light was on. Jack peered out from behind the vat to see that guards had been set up along the front entrance to make sure nobody got out. He glanced upwards to the series of platforms – the cops were already climbing up to the one leading to the office, but a smaller trail of them ran along the sides of the building and to the back emergency exit.

"We're gonna have to be quick and quiet," he murmured. "When we get up there, we just need to run without looking back."

Harleen nodded, her heart pounding in terror. "Jack," she whispered, clutching his hand. "Whatever happens…I just want you to know that I love you."

He grinned. "Of course you do, kid," he murmured. "Only somebody who loved me would risk their life coming here to save mine. My only regret if we don't make it is that I never got to thank you properly for it."

Harleen smiled despite herself, and then kissed him tenderly. Their kiss was interrupted by the sound of gunshots and shouts of alarm as the gang was ambushed, and defended themselves.

"Now," whispered Jack. "While they're distracted."

He and Harleen raced up the stairs to the platforms, running as fast as they could down them. Harleen could see the door to freedom, and she could hear Jack behind her, and her heart leapt in hope that they would make it after all…

And then fell again as she heard a familiar voice behind them. "I can shoot you in the back, Napier, if you insist on running like the coward you are. Keep running if you think I'm bluffing, or turn and face me like a man."

Harleen heard Jack stop, and turned to see him standing facing Ricky, who stood further down the platform, aiming a gun at his head. "My fellow officers are taking care of the rest of your gang," said Ricky, his blue eyes fixed on Jack like cold steel. "But you're mine."

Jack chuckled. "This is the thanks I get for saving your life, kid?" he laughed. "Suppose that'll teach me a lesson for being merciful, if this is where mercy gets me."

"If you think I'm capable of any act of mercy after you killed my partner in cold blood, then you're even dumber than you look," retorted Ricky. "You gunned him down like a dog, and now it's time I did the same for you. That's justice, cop killer. That's what all your kind deserve, a swift bullet to the skull. You deal that out to so many people, but you must never really think your day's ever gonna come. But it's come today, Jack Napier," he said, cocking his gun. "Today's the day you die, unmourned by anyone, and alone. Because you're an evil monster, and evil monsters always die alone."

Jack grinned. "I ain't alone," he murmured.

Harleen stepped forward into the light, standing protectively in front of Jack. "Ricky, please," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "Please, don't shoot him."

Ricky stared at her in disbelief and shock. "Harley?" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to warn Jack," she said, taking Jack's hand and turning to face Ricky again. "I love him, Ricky."

Ricky gaped at her, not processing what she had said. "What?" he gasped.

"I love him," repeated Harleen. "That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. That's what I've been wanting to tell you for weeks, only I didn't know how. And I never wanted it to come to this. But Jack and I…are in love."

Ricky continued to just stare at her, aghast. "Harley…he…he can't…a thing like that can't love!"

"Yes, he can, Ricky," murmured Harleen, gently. "He loves me. And I love him."

"Why do you think I saved your life during the raid, kid?" asked Jack, grinning. "Did you think it was because of your stunning good looks? It was because Harley pleaded for you with hers. It was because I'd rather let you live with Harley than hurt her with your death."

"Harley…you can't love a creature like that…you don't know what he's done!" cried Ricky.

"I read his file, same as you," replied Harleen, calmly. "I know him. And I love him. It's as simple as that, Ricky. I never meant to hurt you, but there was no way of telling you the truth without doing that. And now that you know, please, you have to let him go. For my sake."

"Let him go?" repeated Ricky. "The man who killed my partner, my fellow officers, and seduced my fiancee…"

"He didn't seduce me," said Harleen. "We met on the subway after my engagement party. We got talking, and we discovered we liked each other, and…he was the person I stayed with that night. I didn't know who he was then, except a man I was very attracted to, and after I found out, I only grew more attracted to him. The truth is, Ricky, our relationship…has never really worked, at least not for me. I stayed in it because I was too scared and apathetic to break out of it. But with Jack, I'm not afraid or apathetic. He makes me feel things I've never felt before. And that's not your fault – that's not anyone's fault. We're just two different people, and we're just not compatible. But Jack and I are."

Ricky shook his head. "Harley, I know you, and you're not compatible with a murdering psychopath…"

"You don't know me, Ricky," interrupted Harleen. "I've tried to hide my true self from everyone for a long time. But finally, with Jack, I don't have to. I'm not appalled by crime and murder – I'm attracted to it. I'm attracted to a man who does bad things, and one…who can do bad things to me. You deserve a much better wife than me. So please, just let Jack go. And let me go with him."

"Harley…" gasped Ricky. He shook his head firmly. "This isn't you. He's done something, twisted your mind, like the monster that he is…"

"Ricky, he hasn't!" cried Harleen. "This is who I am! You have to accept that! You have to accept the truth!"

"No, I don't!" he roared. "Not if the truth is insanity! And that's what this is, Harley! It's crazy! No one in their right mind could love a creature like that! You're confused, and you need help, and you can get it once he's gone!"

"Ricky, please…" began Harleen, but he raised his gun again.

"Get out of the way, Harley," Ricky murmured, his gun and eyes fixed on Jack.

Harleen gazed desperately at Ricky, and then glanced at Jack, who said nothing. But she felt his hand slide toward his gun. "Get out of the way, Harley," Jack whispered, gently.

"Jack, no," she whispered. "I won't let you…"

"I'm sorry it has to be like this, Harley," murmured Jack. "But one of us is going to meet our fate today. Just get out of the way and let it happen. Personally, I like my odds."

Harleen shook her head, but she could sense them both getting ready to shoot. She was desperate to stop them, but if she had to save one, she knew who it was going to be.

"Ricky, no!" she shrieked, suddenly rushing him.

"Harley!" shouted Jack, racing after her to push her out of the way in case Ricky fired. Harleen reached him before he could, however, and knocked the gun out of his grip, sending it spinning out of his hands and into the glowing green acid below them.

Ricky shoved her away from him, knocking her back against the railing, and then dived forward to try to grab Jack's gun out of his hand. Jack fired, but Ricky had ducked in time, and the bullet shot through one of the supporting chains holding up the platform instead. It lurched just as Ricky collided with Jack, and they both slipped and fell together under the railing and off the platform.

"Jack!" screamed Harleen, looking over the edge of the platform to see Ricky clinging onto it, with Jack clinging onto his leg. The glowing, green acid bubbled below them, and Ricky struggled to hold on as Jack slipped further down his leg.

Harleen grabbed hold of Ricky's hand, trying to pull him up, but she wasn't strong enough with both of them hanging on. She braced herself against the railing as Ricky struggled to pull himself up with her help.

"Jack," she gasped, letting go of Ricky once his torso was back on the platform, and leaning over to hold out a hand to Jack.

Jack reached up to take her hand, and that was when Ricky kicked out suddenly, making Jack lose his grip on his leg. Harleen watched in horror as he plummeted down into the green chemicals below, hitting them with a splash.

"Jack!" she screamed, waiting for him to resurface. But nothing did, not even his body. It was as if the chemicals had swallowed him whole.

"Sorkin, what happened? Where's Napier? Weren't you going after him?" demanded Gordon, who had suddenly appeared from the office, as his men escorted what was left of the Valestra gang out of the factory. "Harley?" Gordon said, noticing her suddenly. "What are you doing here?"

Harleen couldn't respond – she just stared in horror down at where Jack had disappeared. "Napier's been dealt with," muttered Ricky, climbing slowly to his feet. "He's gone."

"You…you killed him," stammered Harleen, tearing her eyes away from the vat and up at Ricky.

"He fell," retorted Ricky, firmly. "I couldn't pull both of us up – it was either one of us died, or we both did. I made a choice. I did what I had to do, and it was the right thing."

"You killed him," repeated Harleen, ignoring him and just staring at him, aghast. "You killed the man I loved. How can that possibly be the right thing?"

"I know you don't understand it right now, Harley," said Ricky, gently, taking her by the shoulders and gazing into her eyes. "But you will. You're sick, and I'm gonna help you get better. That's all mental illness is, after all, you've told me that a thousand times. It's something that can be cured, with time and help and compassion. And I'm gonna give you all those things, baby. And I know eventually we can be happy together again."

"Happy," repeated Harleen. "You think…I can ever be happy after this?"

"I know you can," he said. "Trust me, baby."

He kissed her forehead, and then said, taking her hand, "Now let's get outta here and get you home."

Harleen couldn't do anything else but obey him, and she followed him dumbly. She was in a state of complete mental shock right now, and she couldn't process nor accept that the man she loved was dead. She couldn't process nor accept that the man she was engaged to had killed him. And she couldn't imagine what on earth was going to happen to her now.


	11. Chapter 11

"Harley, Commissioner Gordon would like a word with you," said Ricky.

It was the first thing he had said since the previous evening at Ace Chemicals. They had driven home in silence, and gone to sleep in separate rooms – Harleen in the bedroom, and Ricky on the sofa. The next day, Ricky had left for work without a word, and Harleen hadn't left the bedroom, or indeed, the bed. She lay there, as she had all night, sometimes sobbing loudly in agony, and sometimes crying silent tears. She couldn't focus on anything else except the pain at the realization that the man she loved was dead. She saw him falling down, down, down in front of her eyes every time she shut them. She saw him being swallowed up by that horrible green goo. It must have been a terrible way to die, choking on those toxic chemicals while you gasped for breath, acid swarming down your throat and burning your lungs. Harleen couldn't bear to imagine what Jack must have felt in his last moments. But she also couldn't help it.

Ricky had given her the message through the door, and Harleen managed to pick herself out of bed and head over to it, unlocking and opening it. "Why?" she asked, quietly.

"He wants to know…how intimately you were involved with the Valestra gang," murmured Ricky. "You might have to…be tried as an accomplice."

Harleen smiled without humor. "The only member of the Valestra gang I was intimately involved with was Jack," she retorted. "And he's dead. My association with them went no further than that, and now, thanks to you, it's at an end."

"He'd still like to question you," said Ricky, grabbing the door before she could shut it. "It's not a request, Harley."

"Are you going to arrest me?" she asked. "Why bother? Why not just murder me by kicking me into some chemicals instead? Isn't that your usual method of dealing with criminals?"

"You're not a criminal, Harley," retorted Ricky. "You're innocent until proven guilty. The comish just wants to establish that innocence."

"Seems to me if I have to defend myself just because I loved a guy, I'm guilty until proven innocent," muttered Harleen. "At least by association."

"Are you coming, or are you going to make me arrest you?" asked Ricky. "What do you think your parents would say about that?"

"What do you think they're gonna say when they find out you murdered my gangster lover?" demanded Harleen.

"Obviously they're not going to find out that you had a gangster lover," retorted Ricky. "He's gone, and we're just going to forget the whole horrible affair ever happened and just continue on as planned."

"I'm not marrying you, Ricky," snapped Harleen. "Not after what you've done."

He was silent. "Maybe…you'll change your mind about that, in time," he murmured. "Now are you coming willingly?"

Harleen shrugged. "I think I'd prefer to be arrested. I think it's what Jack would have wanted, if you hadn't killed him. He was always a fighter. I wanna be one too, in his memory."

Ricky said nothing, but reached for his handcuffs. "Ok, then. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Let's go."

He slapped the handcuffs on her wrists and then dragged her down the stairs to the car. They were silent on the drive to the station, and when they arrived, Ricky escorted her out in handcuffs.

The officers stared at them in astonishment as they entered the building. "Harley?" asked Detective Bullock, puzzled. "What the heck is going on?"

"She's under arrest, Harvey," snapped Ricky. "Under suspicion of aiding and abetting the late Jack Napier."

"What?" said Bullock, his confusion deepening. "She didn't even know Jack Napier. And she's your fiancee!"

"Not anymore, Harvey," murmured Harleen. "And I did know Jack Napier. I loved Jack Napier. That's what I was doing at the raid – I wanted to make sure nothing happened to him. And now he's dead, thanks to my ex-fiance."

Bullock just gaped at them, and then shook his head. "You think you know a gal," he muttered, returning to work. "Guess it's always the quiet ones."

Harleen was led into the interrogation room, where Sal Valestra and the man she recognized as Buzz sat with another fat man. They stared at her in confusion.

"Who the hell is this?" asked Sal, turning to Gordon.

"She's unfamiliar to you?" asked Gordon.

"I'll say she is – never laid eyes on her before in my life," retorted Sal. "I mean, she's easy on the eyes, that's for sure. You know trying to bribe me with women won't make me talk, right?"

"It might make me," spoke up the fat one.

"Shut up, Chuckie!" snapped Sal, elbowing him.

"This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel," said Gordon. "She was romantically involved with the late Jack Napier."

Sal whistled. "Jack was batting outta his league, I'll say that for him. He musta had some kinda charm, I guess."

"Lucky guy," agreed Chuckie.

"Ain't so lucky now – he's dead," snapped Buzz, who had glared at Harleen from the moment she entered, rubbing his bruised nose. Harleen had clearly broken it with her elbow.

"There's no crime necessarily in being romantically involved with a criminal," continued Gordon. "Although I would certainly question the ethics of it, especially from an engaged woman. However, aiding and abetting a criminal is a crime. I was just wondering if Harley ever helped you guys out with anything illegal."

Sal shook his head. "I told you, I've never seen her before in my life. Unless one of you idiots got her involved with jobs behind my back and without my orders?" he asked, turning to Buzz and Chuckie.

Chuckie shook his head vehemently. Harleen saw Buzz eye her, and a small, cruel smile formed on his lips. "I did," he said, turning to Gordon. "She did some small time jobs for us, nothing big. Delivering the right kinda packages to the right kinda customers, if you know what I'm saying."

"Buzz, that was your job!" snapped Sal. "How dare you pass that off onto some strange dame? What do I even pay you for?! She coulda been a pig spy!"

"She clearly ain't," retorted Buzz. "Because they've arrested her. No, me and Jack got her involved with a lotta stuff, not all of it business, if you know what I mean," he said, grinning unpleasantly at her.

"You take it back, you filthy liar!" shrieked Harleen, starting forward. She was restrained by Ricky.

"If Jack was here, he'd tell you," continued Buzz, nodding. "This bitch likes doing bad stuff. That really turns her on, committing crimes, casual violence, kinkiness of all sorts. You shouldn't be fooled by her innocent appearance. She's a filthy, dirty, deranged psycho. If you don't believe me, just ask yourselves if that ain't the only type of woman who could have loved a guy like Jack Napier."

Gordon and Ricky shared a look. "Dr. Quinzel, in light of the witness's testimony, I'm afraid you will have to be put on trial with the rest of the Valestra gang," murmured Gordon. "Please escort her to a cell, Sorkin. And take these scum back to theirs," he said, gesturing to the Valestra gang as he left.

"Told you you'd pay for what you did, bitch," hissed Buzz, grinning unpleasantly at Harleen as the guards escorted them back to their cells. Ricky said nothing as he escorted Harleen to hers.

"You believe him, don't you?" asked Harleen, as Ricky unlocked the cell door and pushed her gently inside.

"I don't have any reason to doubt him," murmured Ricky. "You said yourself, I don't know you. You're not the girl I thought you were. You're something darker, something that could love a murdering psychopath. Why shouldn't I believe what he said?"

He shut and locked the door. "I'll try and tell your parents as gently as I can," he said, quietly. "Before the papers can. Those parasites at the press are gonna lap up a story like this. Pretty, innocent-looking woman, engaged to a cop, but with a horrible, dark side. I'd advise not giving any interviews."

He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Harleen alone in her cell. She looked around at the cold, bare room, and then sat down on the hard bed, head in her hands.

She knew if it came to a trial, the jury would be dead set against her, especially if the media had anything to say about it. If they could establish her as the cold, heartless woman Buzz had described, a woman who had taken advantage of her police officer fiance while dallying with a cop killer, then the jury would be heartily recommending the full weight of the law to be brought down on her shoulders. Hell, a good lawyer could make her take the blame for the cop deaths during the raid - they would say she had advanced information about it from Ricky, and she had been the one to warn the gang the cops were raiding them so they were prepared. She could be found guilty of second-degree murder of police officers.

She raised her head suddenly as an idea struck her. Unless she could get off on some kind of insanity plea. She was a psychiatrist, after all – she knew how to play the system in terms of insanity. If she could convince the jury she was insane, she would at worst be sent to Arkham, and that wouldn't be so bad. At least she had friends there, most of them patients.

But another half of her didn't want to even attempt that. Another half of her wanted to just give up, and let the jury do their worst to her. If they wanted her dead, it couldn't be any worse than her life would be without Jack. She wasn't sure how much longer she could live with the pain of his death haunting her every waking moment.

Unfortunately prisons tended to be on guard in case of suicide attempts. But people had committed them before, and Harleen was sure, if the time came, she could accomplish it. But she had resolved to be a fighter, for Jack's sake. So she would fight the justice system first, and try to win the insanity plea. And if that didn't work…

"At least Jack and I will be together again," she murmured. "Wherever he is now."


	12. Chapter 12

Dave Collins had worked on the Gotham River his whole life, ever since his father had taught him to drive fishing boats at the age of eight. He remembered early mornings, sometimes pitch black, sometimes with a faint glimmer of light along the horizon, when he and his father would head out along the river and towards the sea for the day's catch. Of course that had been nearly fifty years ago, and the Gotham waters had changed so much since Dave was a boy. People had started polluting them with all manner of waste and garbage, and the fish had fled further and further out to sea. So every year, his days became longer as he caught what he could in the Gotham area, before heading further out to sea after them.

He was heading home along the Gotham River one evening, discouraged after the day's small catch, when he suddenly felt something knock against the side of his boat. He leaned over the side and saw that it was a body lying face-down in the water.

Dave sighed heavily as he fished around for the hook. He had seen his fair share of bodies in the river, even as a boy. Sometimes it was a gang execution, sometimes it was a suicide. He had seen all sorts, men, women, even children wash up drowned in the river. But he had never seen anything like the man he hooked and pulled on board.

His skin was bleached white, and his lips were bright red, like they had been painted on. But no paint could have survived a dip in the river, and they were pulled up in a strange smile, which was terrifying to see on a corpse. The man's hair was bright green, and along with the river water, some sort of green liquid dripped off his body.

"What on earth happened to you, fella?" muttered Dave, bending down to examine the body.

He started back in shock and horror when the body's eyes snapped open, and it began coughing, spitting up more of the green liquid. The strange man gasped for air, choking and sputtering and drawing in deep breaths, and then exhaling them. In a horrible way, it sounded like choked laughter.

"Oh…my God," stammered Dave, gazing at the man in astonishment. "You're…alive!"

The strange man turned to him, and grinned a wide, horrible grin with his red lips. "Apparently so!" he chuckled. "Ain't that…a kick in the head?"

He burst into hysterical laughter, amused by a joke only he understood. Dave stared at him, and then hurried to find a blanket, draping it over the man. "Here, you must be frozen," he said. "God knows how you're alive. Do you know what happened to you? How you ended up in the river and…looking like that?"

"Looking like what?" asked the strange man.

"You don't…uh…know?" stammered Dave.

He shook his head. "Last thing I remember is being knocked into some chemicals. Dunno what they were, exactly – they'd been sitting there awhile. Could be radioactive for all I know. I don't look like I got super powers, do I?" he asked, excitedly. "Because I'm not gonna lie, that would be pretty cool!"

"Uh…no," stammered Dave. "Not unless…you have…circus powers."

"Circus powers?" repeated the man. "What are you talking about? What do I look like?"

"Uh…well…kinda like a…erm…a clown," stammered Dave.

"Clown?" repeated the man. "What a rip! Clowns don't have super powers! I go through all that pain just for a jester makeover?! God, somebody up there has a cruel sense of humor," he chuckled. "But I guess He loves me enough to keep me alive, so that's something."

"Here," said Dave, handing the man his hip flask. "Try to warm up."

"You're a lifesaver, pal, in more ways than one!" chuckled the man, taking the flask from him and gulping it down.

"Can I getcha to a hospital?" asked Dave. "Call an ambulance or something once we dock?"

"Nah, not a big fan of doctors," replied the man. "Except one. Anyway, they probably ain't seen anything like me before. She won't have either," he added, his smiling face suddenly dropping into a frown.

"She?" repeated Dave. "Can I take you to someone who can help you?"

The man shook his head slowly. "I dunno where she is right now," he murmured. "And I dunno if she'd wanna see me like this."

"Your wife?" guessed Dave.

"Girlfriend," replied the man. "But serious, y'know, not just a fling or anything. I'm crazy about her. And she…was crazy about me. But now…I dunno, she'd have to be really crazy to love a clown, huh?" he chuckled, grinning at Dave.

Dave shrugged. "I dunno much about women," he said. "But I think if she really loves you, she'll love you no matter how you look. I think she'll just be relieved you're alive, after suffering that horrible accident. I think that relief and joy will override anything bad she might think about your appearance."

"Maybe," agreed the man. "Need to find her first, though. And this is a big city."

"Maybe ask the cops to help?" suggested Dave.

The man chuckled. "Nah, not a big fan of the cops, either," he murmured. "They're the ones who did this to me. Well, one of 'em, and he's gonna pay for it. But if I went to them for help, they'd arrest me as soon as they saw…"

He trailed off, beaming his huge grin again. "Or maybe not," he murmured. "I can't be arrested for Jack Napier's crimes, after all – I don't look anything like him. They don't even know I'm alive – I can start all over, make a fresh start with a new identity. Any ideas for names, pal?" he asked Dave.

"Uh…Mr. Clown?" suggested Dave.

"Wow. Stick to fishing as an occupation, because you're terrible at ideas," retorted the man. "Nah, I need something with a real ring to it. Something short and simple and classy."

He fell silent as he thought, and as Dave continued to steer the boat downriver. The strange man reached over and picked up a fish, tossing it in between his palms. He then grabbed two more and began to juggle.

"Looks like you do have clown powers," commented Dave.

"Yeah, through years of practice, not radiation," retorted the man. He put the fish on his head and said, "Look at me, I'm a clownfish! Get it, clownfish?"

He burst out laughing hysterically again, as if this was the funniest joke in the world. Dave forced a smile. "Yeah, I get it," he said.

"That's not a bad idea, you know," continued the man, taking the fish off his head and staring at it. "Clownfish. Gotta be some crime you can commit involving clowns and fish, some kinda caper. You could find a way to make the fish look like me, like an actual clown, and then file a copyright suit and charge companies so that you'd make a profit from every fish product sold."

"Sure, that sounds…reasonable," stammered Dave. This guy definitely needed to be in a hospital, he thought. Preferably a mental one.

The man snapped his fingers suddenly. "I got it!" he exclaimed, brandishing the fish above his head. "I'll be the Joker! The Clown Prince of Crime! The Ace of Knaves! The Jester of Genocide! How does that sound for a moniker, pally?" he asked Dave.

"Uh…great," said Dave, slowly. "Really…great. So…you'll commit…clown crimes?"

"You make it sound so boring," said the man, waving his hand. "Show a bit more enthusiasm! Yes, clown crimes! Genius, clever, hysterical clown crimes, guaranteed to make the public laugh, or die trying! By which I mean _they'll_ die trying, of course!" he giggled.

"Right," said Dave, smiling and nodding. That was really the only thing he could do at this point. He was relieved when they reached the dock, and he tied the boat up, eager to be rid of the strange man.

"Well, good luck to you, Joker," he said. "Hope you find your girl."

"Oh, I will," he agreed, grinning. "Thanks for all your help, pally. I can't thank you enough for saving my life."

He held out his hand to Dave, who reached forward to take it. And then the man suddenly stabbed him, ripping the knife up from belly to chest…like how you would gut a fish.

"That's less a clown crime and more of an ironic crime, but I gotta work with what I got," said the man, shrugging, as Dave choked up blood. "Not too many jokes in fish, except for that one I was telling you about. But I ain't got the time or the resources to do that right now – I got my girl to find!" he chuckled, shoving Dave's bleeding corpse into the river.

The Joker turned and strode off, whistling in between giggles, and singing, " _They're finny and funny and oh so delish, they're joyful and jolly Joker fish_ …"


	13. Chapter 13

"Well…let's get this over with," said Dr. Leland, switching on the tape recorder. "This hearing is to determine the mental state of Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, former employee of Arkham Asylum and currently being held for aiding and abetting the Valestra gang. This session is to judge her mental competency and see if she can be held legally accountable for her actions. On the panel to judge this is myself, Dr. Joan Leland, Head Doctor at Arkham Asylum, Commissioner James Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department, and Professor Jonathan Crane, Professor of Psychology at Gotham University who specializes in criminal psychiatry…"

"Actually, I specialize in fears and phobias," interrupted Professor Crane. "Particularly in relation to criminal psychiatry, where I believe it has limitless practical applications in terms of reform. But my actual specialty is fears and phobias."

"I don't really think we need to be that specific for this record, Professor Crane," said Dr. Leland.

"One should always be accurate, especially in recording facts for posterity," said Professor Crane. "As a teacher, I abhor inaccuracy."

"As a teacher, I imagine you encounter it a lot," retorted Commissioner Gordon. "I've had to help my daughter with her school homework, and a lot of it doesn't make sense, even to me."

"Perhaps if your daughter paid more attention in class, she wouldn't need help with her homework," retorted Professor Crane.

"She's still young – I think there are more important things to her than school," said Commissioner Gordon.

"I see," said Professor Crane, lightly. "Well, if that's the attitude you've infected her with, no wonder she can't complete basic homework assignments. I wouldn't accuse her of simply not being bright, of course, but not all children are…"

"You don't even know my daughter," snapped Gordon. "How dare you imply she's not bright?! She's incredibly bright, and she's going to go incredibly far in life, without perfectly completing every ridiculous homework assignment!"

"Of course she will," said Professor Crane, smiling patronizingly. "With a lax attitude toward education like that, I'm sure she'll end up head and shoulders above her peers."

"We're kinda getting off topic here," said Dr. Leland. "And I really don't want to record your petty squabbles for posterity. This is meant to be a professional hearing regarding Dr. Quinzel's mental competency. Can you ask your men to please bring in the prisoner, Commissioner?"

"Didn't you have any warning signs when you hired Dr. Quinzel that she was potentially mentally unstable?" asked Professor Crane of Dr. Leland as Commissioner Gordon went to the door. "I would thoroughly re-examine your process of hiring staff if that proves to be the case."

"Believe me, Professor Crane, she seemed nothing but normal to me," retorted Dr. Leland. "And I've been dealing with lunatics for most of my life, and all of my professional career. You can never be too sure."

"Perhaps _you_ can't," retorted Professor Crane. "I can assure you, I will be able to diagnose this young lady within seconds of seeing her."

The door opened, and Harleen was led in in handcuffs. She was placed in a chair in front of the panel as Commissioner Gordon took his seat. "Please state your name for the record, Dr. Quinzel," he said.

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," murmured Harleen.

"Dr. Quinzel, this is Professor Crane, who teaches psychology at Gotham University," said Commissioner Gordon, nodding at him. "Dr. Leland you know. They're just here to ask you a few questions to ascertain your mental state."

"As I said, she always seemed perfectly normal to me," said Dr. Leland. "And very much in control of her actions. If she's been involved in a crime, I don't think it's because she's mentally unstable. But of course, that's what we're here to discover, isn't it, Professor Crane?"

He didn't respond. Both Dr. Leland and Commissioner Gordon turned to see him staring, open-mouthed, at Harleen. "Professor Crane?" pressed Dr. Leland.

"What?" he stammered, turning to her.

"I said we're here to discover her mental competency," said Dr. Leland.

"And if you do find that she is mentally competent, as I'm sure you will, then she'll be tried equally with the rest of the Valestra gang," said Commissioner Gordon. "I lost four of my men on a botched raid on the Valestra gang, which I'm sure Dr. Quinzel warned them about in advance. Of course the judge will have to determine her exact sentence, and I imagine it will be more lenient than the others. But I'm hoping it's still severe enough to punish her for her crimes."

"Punish…her?" stammered Professor Crane. "But…but she can't be a criminal! Just look at her!"

"Appearances can be deceiving, Professor Crane," retorted Dr. Leland. "As you should know, having a doctorate in psychology."

"Of course I know that!" snapped Professor Crane. "I also know that otherwise innocent people can be misled or led astray by bad companions. It's not their fault, and they shouldn't be blamed for it. They're just more sensitive, more weak-willed than others, but that's not a crime!"

"That's not, but committing a crime is, in fact, a crime," retorted Commissioner Gordon. "And the law says she has to take responsibility for her actions. The only mitigating circumstance would be insanity…"

"Oh, and you're so sure she isn't insane, are you?" demanded Professor Crane. "Made up your mind already, have you? And what qualifications do you have in terms of criminal psychology to do so, Commissioner? I'd certainly like to read your doctoral thesis!"

"I don't have any qualifications, but I have dealt with criminals most of my life," retorted Commissioner Gordon. "I'm well aware of the kinds of games they play to try to avoid facing justice."

"There, you see? Your bias is showing," retorted Professor Crane.

"Oh, and yours isn't?" demanded Commissioner Gordon.

"Gentlemen, if we could please get back to the matter at hand?" interrupted Dr. Leland. "Dr. Quinzel, can you please state your reasons to us for allegedly aiding and abetting the Valestra gang?"

Harleen looked up at them. "I…did it for love," she stammered, truthfully. "If I've done anything wrong, I only did it for the right reasons. The man I loved…was a criminal, but that didn't matter to me. Love is blind, and irrational, and maybe it wasn't rational for me to want to help him, but I did. To tell you the truth…it did feel like I was possessed by a kind of madness. It was relentless and obsessive, and it was determined not to let any harm come to Jack. I couldn't stop thinking about him, day and night. I still can't, even though he's gone. It certainly seems crazy to me – to be so in love with a man who can never now return it. But it doesn't matter to me. I'm gonna keep loving him forever. And I've counseled enough people in my time to know that's crazy. I've told them time heals all wounds, that there are plenty of fish in the sea, that if you just try to move on, you'll be able to. These are all sensible things to say, but I know in my heart they're not true in my case. Jack was my true love, my one true love. I think I must be crazy to believe in something so ridiculous – the idea that there's only one perfect match out there. The world is full of billions of people, so even if there is a perfect match, you'll probably never find it. But I found mine. I feel it in my heart, deep down inside the very core of my being. My head can't explain it, it doesn't make any sense…but nothing has ever made more sense to me in my life. I've spent my whole life trying to hide who I truly am. And finally with Jack…I didn't have to. He loved me for me. I think…repressing my true identity for so long maybe has made me crazy. I've always counseled my patients not to repress anything, because eventually it will take control of you and do serious psychological harm. That's probably what's happened to me. And the worst thing is, I don't regret what I've done. I'd do it all over again if I had the chance, and I'll take any punishment anyone can deal out. Even death would be worth it, because I'm one of the lucky ones. I know what it truly is to love someone. And if I have to die for that love, I can't think of a better way to go. You can advise the judge to do their worst to me, Commissioner," she said, nodding at Gordon. "It doesn't matter to me. I lived without fear, and loved without fear. And if I have to die, I will die without fear. Jack taught me that. It's one of the greatest gifts you can give to someone – to let them be who they are proudly, and live their life without fear. I must truly be crazy because…despite my situation, I feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

"It's a very pretty speech, Dr. Quinzel, but I think you protest too much…" began Commissioner Gordon.

"How dare you, Commissioner?!" interrupted Professor Crane, furiously. "Protest too much?! Can't you see the poor child is pouring her heart out in sincerity?! I believe her. I believe she is insane, and she must be protected for her own good. She can't be forced to endure a lengthy, public trial – she must be taken care of safely and comfortably in Arkham."

"It's true that repression can lead to deep psychological problems," agreed Dr. Leland, slowly. "And Dr. Quinzel never gave any signs of her criminal inclinations when I worked with her. Maybe she truly did just have a mental breakdown. The mind can only take so much repression before it snaps…maybe meeting this Jack was the straw that broke the camel's back."

"Yes, it's a very standard case, but certainly pleaded with exceptional eloquency," said Professor Crane, nodding at Harleen. "The poor girl has struggled with issues from childhood that she's had to repress, and she meets a man who represses none of his issues, and once the fear of punishment is removed, for she sees this man getting away with criminal behavior scot free, the moral compass, which she has struggled to point in the right direction for so long, finally shatters. Perhaps if the police force could keep criminals locked up, vulnerable people would not be exposed to the influence of their dangerous lifestyles."

"Perhaps if shrinks could do a better job strengthening people's minds so they don't snap, they wouldn't be able to get away with mental breakdowns as a flimsy excuse for criminal behavior," snapped Commissioner Gordon.

"No one is interested in your opinions of psychiatry, or psychiatrists, Commissioner," retorted Professor Crane. "But I'm recommending Dr. Quinzel's committal to Arkham over a prison sentence. A criminal trial will only draw undue media attention on her already fragile mental state, and could lead to a complete psychological collapse. You must get her to safety at once, Dr. Leland."

"I believe that's also my professional recommendation," said Dr. Leland, nodding slowly. "It will be better for her in Arkham than in prison – there's much more hope of rehabilitation in a familiar environment."

"So she won't be punished for helping murder four of my officers?" demanded Commissioner Gordon.

"She's insane, Commissioner," snapped Professor Crane. "That's punishment enough, I feel. We fortunate sane people can never understand the struggles that the insane are faced with, nor what horrific visions their madness infects them with. Show a little compassion, for goodness sake, and thank your lucky stars you're not a lunatic. I know I do every day."

Professor Crane stood up and came over to Harleen. "It was wonderful to meet you, my dear," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "I hope one day to understand what it is to live without fear myself."

"You'd have to be crazy, Professor Crane," said Harleen, with a small smile.

"True," he agreed. "Very true, my dear. Perhaps I'll see you in Arkham someday. Goodbye."

"I'll see you in Arkham soon, Harley," said Dr. Leland, coming over to her after Professor Crane left. "And don't worry. I'm sure we can help you get better."

"I hope so, Joan," agreed Harleen.

Commissioner Gordon was the last to leave, glaring at her. "They may buy your act, but I don't," he muttered. "But I'll abide by their decision. That's the law, and nobody here is above the law."

"Apparently lunatics are," replied Harleen, smiling at him. "And I've just proved myself to be one."

Commissioner Gordon scowled, and then gestured to the men to take her back to her cell. He headed outside the station, where a crowd of reporters had gathered to hear the verdict. "After much consideration, a panel of experts has agreed that Dr. Harleen Quinzel is legally insane," he announced. "She will be taken to Arkham Asylum, where it is hoped she can be rehabilitated as a normal, productive member of society. Thank you."

The reporters shouted questions after him as Commissioner Gordon turned and headed back into the station. A man in a trenchcoat and hat stood at the edge of the crowd, smoking a cigarette in between bright, red lips.

Those lips twisted into a grin at the verdict, and he headed off into the streets of Gotham, laughing a continuous, low, hysterical chuckle.


	14. Chapter 14

"Harley, are you feeling up to visitors?" asked Dr. Leland. "Your parents are here to see you, along with…your former fiance."

Harleen had had nothing to distract herself with since being confined in the asylum except her own thoughts and despair over Jack's death. She had only been confined to Arkham for a few days, but it had seemed like years, and so any distraction, however unpleasant, was welcomed by her.

"I'd like to see them," she murmured.

"Follow me to the visiting room," Dr. Leland said. "And feel free to ask them to leave the instant you feel uncomfortable. Remember, you're just sick, and you need help. And the only effective help is looking after yourself and listening to your feelings. That's how we heal – not by repressing, but by embracing."

"Maybe you're right, Joan," agreed Harleen. And maybe she was, she thought, as Dr. Leland led her out of her cell toward the visiting room. She had vowed never to go back to the pathetic shell of a woman she had been before she had met Jack. For his sake, she was going to embrace her true self, and live freely. Even if that freedom was temporarily curtailed by confinement in a mental asylum.

She entered the visiting room and noticed the looks given her by her family and former fiance. Disappointment burned out from them, but they tried not to show it by smiling at her. Strangely, the fact that she had upset them didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore now that Jack was gone.

"Harley, baby, how you feeling?" asked her mother, gently.

"I'm fine, Mom," said Harleen, taking a seat in front of them. "How are you all doing?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected," replied her mother, with a forced smile. "With our daughter temporarily…confined."

"Dr. Leland says I need to be in here to get better," said Harleen. "I'm sure she's right. She says I'm just sick, and they're going to help me get well here."

"I'm sure they'll try," agreed Mrs. Quinzel. "But I, for one, have never had a huge amount of faith in shrinks or their psychiatric mumbo jumbo."

"Yes, I know," murmured Harleen. "You expressed that view to me many times throughout my degree."

"The whole family sends their best wishes for a speedy recovery," continued Mrs. Quinzel. "I told 'em you're a fast healer, even when you were little, so you should be outta here and back to normal in no time. And then things can continue as planned."

"What do you mean?" asked Harleen. "What things?"

"Well, the wedding," said Mrs. Quinzel, nodding. "I haven't canceled any of it yet, and I told the extended family to hold off on getting flight refunds. I said my daughter was never sick for very long, and she'll beat this thing in time for the wedding…"

"I'm not marrying Ricky, Mom," interrupted Harleen, firmly. "I don't love him. Especially not after what he did."

"But what did he do really, Harleen?" asked her mother, gently. "Just think about it. He did his job, his job as a police officer that requires a lot of courage, risking his own life to catch criminals. And in the end, when he had to make a choice between his own life or that of a criminal, he chose to let the criminal die. I'm sure we'd all make the same choice in that situation…"

"He let Jack fall on purpose," interrupted Harleen. "He knows it, and I know it."

"Believe what you want, Harley," said Ricky.

"I will," retorted Harleen. "I believe you were jealous of Jack, so you killed him. But your conscience would never let you live with that fact, so you made up the lie that you now believe, that you had to kill him to save yourself. So you can tell yourself it was self-defense, not murder."

"Harley, you know Ricky only did the right thing," said Mrs. Quinzel. "He's a good guy, unlike that other guy you thought was a good match for you. I mean, I understand why they think you're crazy here."

"His name was Jack," replied Harleen. "Jack Napier."

"He was a criminal, from what I hear," said Mrs. Quinzel. "Worse, a non-Jewish criminal. You must have known it could never have worked out between you. If you had just taken a moment to think about it…"

"I've spent my whole life thinking about it," interrupted Harleen. "Taking my time, considering the rational option, and doing the right, sensible thing, whatever the cost to myself. Now that I know who I truly am and what I truly want, thanks to Jack, I'm never going back to the person I was before. I'm going to be happy being who I truly am. It's what he would want."

"Harley, he was a criminal, and a murderer," retorted Mrs. Quinzel. "A cop killer. I think if you just think about it, you'll realize he was nothing special…"

"He was the man I love," interrupted Harleen. "And my whole world. Which has come crashing down at his death, along with my mind. And it's all his fault," she said, glaring at Ricky. "And you expect me to still marry him?"

"What are you gonna do otherwise?" demanded Mrs. Quinzel. "Mope around this dump of an asylum forever? Or get out, move to some dingy apartment on your own, adopt a couple of cats, and die alone? That's such a waste of your potential, Harleen…"

"You mean it's a waste of your potential for me," interrupted Harleen, coldly. "Every day of my life I have lived in the fear of disappointing you, which I thought would be the same as disappointing myself. But now that I've finally done it, I'm not disappointed in myself. I've never felt more free, and more happy to be me. Jack did that. Jack was the only person in my life who never expected me to be anybody else other than who I was. And even though he's gone, I'm going to stay true to myself, for his sake. I'm going to spend the rest of my life not being afraid to disappoint anyone but myself. So I'm not sorry to disappoint you, Mom, and I'm not going to live out your vision of your ideal life for me. If I do cure myself and get out of here, I'm going to get my own place and live my own life alone."

"And how are you gonna live?" demanded Mrs. Quinzel. "You think anyone's gonna hire a shrink who's been in the nuthouse herself? Or do you think people are gonna forget your name was splashed all over the papers? Do you know what they've written about you, Harleen?"

"I don't care," retorted Harleen, firmly.

"You don't care?" repeated Mrs. Quinzel, incredulously. "I care! I care when my daughter's name is smeared across headlines like some notorious criminal! I care when people write columns calling you an accomplice to a murderer, a sick freak who left her good cop boyfriend to take up with some piece of criminal scum! You've thrown away your life and reputation for a fling, Harleen! And you could maybe claw it back somehow if you get outta here, marry Ricky, and put this whole horrible affair behind you!"

"I'm sorry, Mom – that's not gonna happen," said Harleen. "And if you keep talking to me like that, I'm going to call the guards and be taken back to my cell. I don't want to cut you out of my life, but if you can't accept me for who I am, I'm going to have to. So let's talk about neutral subjects, or let's end this visit."

Silence fell at this, and Harleen finally cleared her throat and said, "So, Ricky…how's work?"

"Fine," he retorted. "We've got a big case going on at the moment."

Silence fell again. "Anything you can talk about?" pressed Harleen.

"Not to you," he retorted. "I know how that ends."

"Ricky, Jack's dead," snapped Harleen. "And I'm not interested in helping out any other criminals, despite what Buzz said. Anyway, it's gotta be better than sitting in long, awkward silences."

Ricky sighed. "There's some kinda freak who dresses like a clown prowling around out there," he muttered. "He's committed some really horrible crimes – murder and mutilation of the bodies. He leaves them with big smiles carved on their faces. It's just what Gotham needs, another psycho on the loose. No offense."

"None taken," retorted Harleen. "Anyway, I ain't on the loose. Not yet, anyway."

"I dunno what's wrong with this city," sighed Mrs. Quinzel. "The criminals just get weirder and weirder."

"Worse, he seems to be targeting cops in particular," said Ricky. "We've had three fatalities in the last week. That's almost as many as Jack Napier took out in one day, with Harley's help."

"The only reason you're here today is because Jack Napier spared your life for me," retorted Harleen. "And then you couldn't even do the same for him. I know which man really loved me."

"I really loved the Harley I knew," retorted Ricky. "Before Jack Napier got his hands on her, and twisted her mind into something sick and wrong."

"Oh, Ricky," sighed Harleen. "That was never the real Harley."

"That's too bad," said Ricky. "Because I really miss her. And I'd do anything to get her to come back."

"I'd do anything to get Jack to come back," replied Harleen. "But he's gone, Ricky, thanks to you. So I guess we both have to miss the people we love forever, because they're never coming back."

"Harley, if you'd just reconsider and be reasonable…" began Mrs. Quinzel, but Harleen stood up.

"That's pretty impossible, Mom, being a lunatic," she said. "I'm going back to my cell now. It was great to see you all. I hope you'll visit again soon."

She turned and left, escorted by the guards back to the cell block. The door shut, and Harleen sat back down on the bed, feeling tears come to her eyes at being alone with her thoughts again.

"Dr. Quinzel?" said a familiar voice.

Harleen looked up to see that the voice was coming from behind the neighboring wall. "Ivy?" she asked.

"Yeah, I saw you being led in," said the voice, which did indeed belong to Poison Ivy. "What are you doing locked up in here?"

Harleen was silent. "The man I loved madly…is dead," she murmured.

Ivy sighed heavily. "Well, if anything is gonna drive you crazy, that'll do it."

"Yeah," agreed Harleen.

There was silence, and then Ivy said gently, "When Jason left me…I was alone, and I couldn't talk to anyone about it. I think it might have helped if I had, with someone who understood what I was going through. So…you wanna talk about it?"

Harleen smiled, for the first time since Jack's death. "Yeah," she murmured. "I really do."


	15. Chapter 15

"Did you see today's paper?" asked Ivy, one evening a few days later. "Jack's gang's been released."

"What?" demanded Harleen. "Why?"

"I'll try to pass it to you through the door – here," said Ivy. Harleen heard something sliding under Ivy's door, and then batted over to hers. She managed to bend down and grab a corner of the paper through the bar, sliding it into her cell.

"Lack of evidence?" she said, reading the article. "That doesn't sound right. Must have been bribery on Sal's part. He probably got to a judge or somebody. Bet the cops are fuming – Gordon worked for ages to get the Valestra gang. And now all that hard work is for nothing. As is…Jack's death," she murmured, tears filling her eyes again.

"Hey, don't think like that," said Ivy, gently. "Think about…how he loved you so much that he was willing to die for you. Jason would never have done anything like that for me – he deserted me at the first sign of trouble. I didn't mean anything to him, not really, and I have to live with that realization for the rest of my life – that I gave up my life for a man who couldn't care less about me. But that's not true in your case."

"Yeah, he truly loved me," murmured Harleen. "And now he's gone forever."

"At least you knew that," replied Ivy. "At least you had what millions of people have lived and died without experiencing. The feeling of being truly loved by someone you truly loved in return. I know I thought that was worth dying for, which is why I was willing to sacrifice myself for Jason. At least you know your love wasn't a mistake."

"That's true," agreed Harleen. "Pretty small consolation, though."

"We lunatics take what we can get," said Ivy. "Goodnight, Dr. Quinzel."

"Ivy, I told you, it's Harley now," replied Harleen. "Just Harley now."

"Ok. Night, Harley," said Ivy.

"Night, Ivy," murmured Harleen. She curled up on the hard bed, wondering what Arkham actually spent its budget on, because it certainly wasn't patient comfort. She lay awake, watching the moonlight stream in between the bars on her window and fixating on her miserable thoughts again, about how Jack was dead, and how she would never feel love like that for anyone ever again. Her life really wasn't worth living anyone – she should just stay locked up in this asylum for the rest of her life. Even if she got out, she'd feel trapped in a cell forever anyway.

Suddenly, she heard a noise outside her cell. It sounded like a thud, as if someone had fallen down. Then she heard a hissing sound, and a thick cloud of smoke began to form in the corridor, obscuring her vision until she could barely see her hand in front of her face.

She heard a strange ticking sound in the fog, and then a loud explosion a second later, the force of which knocked her off her bed and onto the stone floor of the cell. She coughed, trying to struggle to her feet as she choked on the fog and smoke, peering through the debris.

Suddenly, a gloved hand seized her arm and pulled her up. "Knock, knock, kiddo!" chuckled a voice. "Say hello to your new, improved Joker!"

The smoke had cleared somewhat, and Harleen could make out the shape of a male figure holding her arm, a tall, thin figure. As the fog began to fade, she could make out the figure's face, a ghastly pale complexion with grinning red lips pulled up in a huge smile. And then she saw the eyes, green and almost glowing in delight, and so very familiar…

"Oh my God," she gasped, unable to believe it.

She couldn't process what she was seeing – it must be a hallucination, or a dream, or maybe the explosion that had gone off had killed her, and this was heaven. But if this was heaven, and if Jack had come to meet her to lead her to the afterlife, why did he look like a clown? Why was she hallucinating him as a clown? Maybe the explosion had just damaged her brain so that she was seeing strange visions. There was only one way to find out.

She seized his face in her hands and pressed her mouth into his. And she tasted his kiss, warm and real and life-giving, as it always had been. And she knew that this was no hallucination. She was alive…and so was he.

"Jack!" she gasped, when she drew away from him at last. "Oh my God, baby, what happened to you?! How are you alive?! And how did you get in here?!"

"One question at a time, sweets," he chuckled. "But I ain't got time to answer any of those right now – the guards will be here any second. C'mon," he said, dragging her out of the cell and racing down the hall with her.

"Halt!" shouted a guard, as they rounded the corner. Harleen saw Jack raise his gun and fire six rounds into the guard. He pulled the trigger again, and a bang flag popped out, which sent him into fits of hysterical laughter.

"Great gag, huh, kiddo?" he chuckled. "Six bullets, but the last one's a fake! Wait'll you see what else the Joker's got in his bag of tricks!"

A group of guards came racing toward them, and the Joker reached into his bag and pulled out a can. He popped open the lid, and springs leaped out of the can, with bombs attached to them. They exploded upon impact, and Harleen could only watch in horror as most of the corridor was taken out by the bombs. All the while, the Joker giggled madly, pulling her toward the exit.

The doorway was blocked by a line of guards all pointing guns at them. "Halt or we'll shoot!" shouted one.

"You got me!" chuckled the Joker, raising his hands. "I'll come quietly! Whoopsie!" he exclaimed, suddenly dropping a small bag at his feet. Dozens of marbles spilled out of the bag and rolled onto the floor next to the guards. A second later, the marbles spewed a thick, green gas that set the guards coughing and choking…and then laughing hysterically. Harleen could only watch in horror as they fell to the ground, writhing, their faces twisted into huge grins. Then they stopped laughing and moving altogether, the smile frozen on their dead faces forever.

The Joker, meanwhile, kept laughing hysterically, grabbing Harleen's arm again and racing out the door with her. He shoved her into a nearby car, and then started the ignition, accelerating toward the gates until they rammed through them, iron bars smashing against the windshield as they sped out into the open streets. All the while, the Joker never stopped laughing.

He gradually caught his breath as he drove, turning to grin at her. "Some rescue, huh, kiddo?" he chuckled.

"Y…yeah," stammered Harleen, gazing at him. "Um…Jack, baby…are you feeling ok?"

"Never felt better in my life, pooh!" he chuckled. "I've been reborn, y'know! I fell into that acid and came outta it a new man, a man of fun and joy and laughter! I've changed in a lotta ways, sweets, as you can probably see," he giggled, gesturing to his face. "But I ain't changed toward you, baby," he said, smiling tenderly at her. "I rescued you as soon as I could, as soon as I had developed the tools for it. I got some pretty nifty toys now, as you saw back there!" he giggled.

"Yeah," repeated Harleen. "You got…a bang gun, and…explosive springs, and…the…uh…gas?"

"It's something I just invented - I'm calling it Joker toxin, pooh," he said. "That's my name now, the Joker. Got kinda a nice ring to it, huh?"

"Sure," agreed Harleen, slowly.

"Doncha see what this means, baby?" he asked. "It means we can be together now. There's nothing to stop us, and no one to keep us apart this time."

He glanced at her and frowned. "Why ain't you smiling?" he asked. "Ain't you happy about that?"

"Of course I am," she said. "I'm just a little…stunned by what just happened. And…seeing you…like this."

His frown deepened. "You mean…you don't like the way I look now?" he asked. "I ain't…attractive to you anymore?"

"Oh no, sweetie, it's not that," said Harleen. "It's just you being alive and all…it's hard to take in. I had...kinda resigned myself to your death, and it's just shocking to see you...not dead."

He giggled. "When we get home, I'm gonna give you something else that's hard to take in," he chuckled.

Harleen burst out laughing – the joke wasn't even all that funny, but between that, the absurdity of their escape, and the joy of seeing Jack alive again, she couldn't hold back. He beamed when he saw her laughing, and reached for her hand.

"I missed you," he said.

She couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his voice. "I missed you too, baby," she whispered. "I didn't have any reason to live when I thought you were dead. But now…I can be happy again. That might take some getting used to."

"I'll help you, pooh – making people happy is kinda my specialty!" laughed the Joker. "Whether they wanna be or not!"

Something suddenly clicked in Harleen's mind. "Jack…have you been killing other people recently? Especially…cops?"

He giggled. "I have indeed, pooh bear!" he chuckled. "I think you can guess why! I'm trying to draw him out, the guy who did this to me. He's gotta pay for hurting you."

"For hurting me?" repeated Harleen. "You're the one he kicked into those chemicals."

"Oh, he did me a favor in the long run!" chuckled the Joker. "I'm a lot happier now, cupcake! It's a lotta fun being the Joker, much more fun than it was being Jack Napier. Although of course that had its moments. But when you thought I was dead, you were in pain. He put you through that by making you think I was dead. So he's gonna die. Nobody hurts my Harley Quinn and lives."

"Your what?" asked Harleen, puzzled.

"My Harley Quinn," he said, beaming at her. "That's you! Just a little something that came to me when I was working on the clown weapons! It's a play on your name, get it? Harley Quinn! The Joker's loyal and loving gal! I thought you'd love it!"

"Harley Quinn," repeated Harleen, thoughtfully. "I guess I kinda do."

He squeezed her hand. "You and me, we're starting a new life together right now, baby," he murmured. "As two different people. I ain't Jack Napier no more – I'm the Joker. And you ain't Dr. Harleen Quinzel anymore, are you?"

Harleen shook her head slowly. "No," she murmured. "No, I told my parents, and I told Ricky…I'm never going back to being her."

"You're gonna be someone new," agreed Joker, nodding. "Someone Dr. Quinzel was always afraid to be, but someone that's more her true self than anything she created during all those years of repression. Harley Quinn ain't a nice girl. She's a bad girl, and she deserves a bad man, just like the Joker. We're made for each other, sweets. And now there's nothing to come between us ever again."

Harleen's hesitation began to slowly be replaced by wonderful feelings which grew stronger with each passing word and realization. The man she loved madly was alive. She was free. And they were together. Compared to those facts, everything else seemed small and insignificant. There was nothing but a rush of joy, flooding her entire body and drowning out any reservations caused by her former self.

The Joker leaned over to whisper in her ear. "What do you call three dead cops in one week?"

"I dunno," she murmured.

"A good start!" he chuckled, which turned into a fit of hysterical giggling.

She smiled, which turned into a giggle, and then Harley Quinn threw back her head and laughed.


	16. Chapter 16

"All right, you morons, let's see if we can't keep the cops outta our business this time," announced Sal Valestra to the remnants of his gang as they gathered in one of their old hideouts. "We're just lucky they asked Judge Harper to preside – I got a whole lotta dirt on him he don't want anyone else to find out about."

"What kinda dirt, boss?" asked Chuckie.

"Yeah, anything good?" pressed Buzz. "Sex? Drugs?"

"None of your business," retorted Sal. "Knowing you idiots, you'd blab about it to someone, and then I couldn't use it to blackmail him anymore. The secret to blackmail is being able to keep a secret, which I know you, for one, can't, Buzz. You'll blab about my operations to anyone, including shrinks."

"Aw, that was all a big fib, boss," said Buzz, shrugging. "I'd never seen the gal before she came to Ace to see Jack. Then she busted my nose, so I lied to get revenge on her."

"Buzz, that's awful!" exclaimed Chuckie. "Lying to the cops like that!"

"Hey, genius, we all lied to the cops when we said we didn't know anything about their charges against us," snapped Buzz.

"Well, yeah," agreed Chuckie, slowly. "But that didn't get Jack's girlfriend arrested and sent to the looney bin!"

"She deserved it for breaking my nose," said Buzz, shrugging. "Anyway, it's Jack's ex-girlfriend," he said, smugly. "Or should that be ex-Jack's ex-girlfriend?" he laughed.

"Geez, Buzz, that's cold," said Chuckie, frowning. "One of our guys dying ain't funny."

"Oh, sure it is," retorted Buzz. "Serves him right too, for hooking up with a cop's girlfriend. It was only a matter of time before she got bored with him and ratted him out to her boyfriend, and us along with him."

"You think so?" asked Chuckie. "She didn't seem like the type to rat people out to me."

"Yeah, I'm sure your five minute interaction with her gave you a great assessment of her character," said Buzz, rolling his eyes. "Idiot."

"Now, now, Buzz," said Sal. "Let's not be too hard on Jack."

"Yeah," agreed Chuckie. "It's bad luck to speak ill of the dead."

"Not just that," said Sal. "Frankly, I don't blame Jack for being all over that shrink. I mean, he was batting way above his league, but if she was too stupid to see that, I'd have taken advantage of her too. I like a dame with hot looks and not many smarts. Kinda my ideal woman."

"She had to be kinda smart if she was a shrink," said Chuckie.

"Clearly not, to get involved with Jack," retorted Sal. "And especially to get involved with him before breaking up with the cop. It was obvious one day there'd be a confrontation between the two of them over her. I think we're kinda lucky the only one who got killed because of it was Jack."

"I wish I coulda seen his face when that cop kicked him into the acid," chuckled Buzz. "That smug bastard was always so flippant, so carefree, thinking he was so funny all the time. Fancied himself quite the comedian. Bet he wasn't laughing then."

"Bet he's not laughing wherever he is now," agreed Sal. "I hear hell ain't a very fun place. If it exists, bet he's suffering real bad."

"Actually, I've never felt better in my life," said a familiar voice from the shadows. This statement was followed by a low chuckle, and all the men leapt to their feet, guns out and pointed into the darkness.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Buzz.

"Told you we shouldn't have spoken ill of the dead," whispered Chuckie, nervously.

"If this is a joke, guys, it ain't funny!" snapped Sal.

"Oh, it's a joke, all right!" cackled the voice, gleefully. "And I can assure you, it's on you!"

"All right, who the hell is impersonating Jack's voice?" demanded Sal. "Who's the joker?"

The laughter became even more high-pitched and hysterical. "It's me, boys!" exclaimed a figure, stepping into the light. "I'm the Joker!"

They all three stared at the figure before them, dressed in a purple suit. "Jesus Christ!" gasped Buzz.

"No, the Joker," repeated the Joker, beaming at him. "I already told you that – you need to put on your listening ears!"

"Jack…how the hell…are you alive?" stammered Sal.

The Joker sighed heavily. "Ok, I'll repeat it again, since you seem to have suddenly gone deaf. Jack's not alive. I'm the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime, the Ace of Knaves, the Harlequin of Hate…"

"Hang on, puddin', I thought that was me," said another voice, as a female figure dressed in a skintight, red and black catsuit skipped out of the shadows.

"No, no, pumpkin pie!" chuckled the Joker. "You're Harley Quinn, not the Harlequin of Hate!"

"What's the difference?" she asked, frowning. "I'm Harley Quinn, and I hate things. I hate him," she said, pointing at Buzz. "He told the cops I slept with him, as if I ain't got higher standards than that. I like my men tall, pale, and criminally insane," she purred, ruffling the Joker's green hair fondly.

"Aw, now I can't have my baby doll's reputation damaged by some ridiculous lie spread around by a desperate, pathetic loser, can I, pooh bear?" chuckled the Joker. "What do you think we should do about that?"

"I wanna hear your ideas, Mr. J," she purred. "They're always so naughty."

"Jack, why on earth are you dressed like a clown?" demanded Sal. "And how is the shrink here? I thought she was locked up in the nuthouse!"

"She was, Sal!" chuckled the Joker. "I busted her out. Nobody locks up my Harley Quinn, at least not for long. You get the joke, right? Harley Quinn, like the clown?"

"Sure…why the clowns?" asked Sal, slowly.

"It's what happened when I fell into those chemicals," said Joker, gesturing to his face. "It's a pretty permanent look for me. But could be worse, huh? I could've had my face burned off or something! Or I could look like Buzz."

"Shut up!" snapped Buzz. "Jesus Christ, he gets dropped in chemicals and permanently deformed, and he's still smug and annoying! And most irritating of all, still alive!"

"Hey, I don't care how he looks as long as he can still do the job," said Sal, shrugging. "Welcome back, Jack. Have a seat and join the meeting. The shrink needs to wait outside, of course – I still don't trust her."

Joker giggled. "Oh, that's cute. You think I've come back to work for you? You think the Joker is just gonna fall in line and be your lackey again? Is that what you think, Sal?"

"Well…why else are you here?" asked Sal, slowly.

"I'll give you three guesses," said Joker, grinning. "One, I've come to ask you to join me in a small, am-dram production of 'Guys and Dolls.' Two, I've come to propose we all form Gotham's first all criminal barbershop quartet. Or three, I've come here to kill you all."

In the time it took the gangsters to react to that, Joker had already flung down a handful of marbles which immediately started spewing his blinding, green Joker toxin.

"It was option three," announced Joker, as the gangsters choked and coughed on the gas. "Although admittedly, I was kinda excited about the idea of a barbershop quartet."

He grabbed Buzz around the collar, yanking him away from the gas and into the other room. "That death ain't for you, pal," said Joker, grinning at him. "I mean, it's brutal and horrifically painful, but it's gonna seem like a walk in the park in comparison to yours. I'm gonna let Harley do the honors – it's her you've particularly insulted, after all."

"Thanks, puddin'," said Harley, beaming at him as Joker secured Buzz's hands behind his back with a pair of handcuffs. Buzz was panicking and thrashing, trying to get away, so Joker suddenly shot him in the spine.

"There you go, sweets," continued Joker, calmly, as Buzz fell to the ground, screaming in agony. "Now he's paralyzed. What did you have in mind for his death?"

"Well, Joker toxin is fun and all," agreed Harley, over Buzz's screaming. "But I think I'd rather do to him what he thought was so amusing to have happen to you. He laughed at the thought of you dying horribly in acid. So let's see how he likes having his flesh burned off, piece by piece."

"Dame after my own heart!" laughed Joker.

"And because he told the cops you and him shared me, I think it would only be appropriate that you and me share his death," continued Harley. "So I'll go, then you go, ok, puddin'?"

"What my baby wants, my baby gets," said Joker, nodding. "Take your shot, sweets."

Harley cuddled up next to Joker, sliding her hand into his jacket and smiling at Buzz. "You knew I liked doing bad stuff, huh, Buzz?" she purred. "Go ahead, call me a filthy, dirty, deranged psycho now. You were right, I am turned on by casual violence. And I guess in your own small way, you get to take part in that, by being horribly mutilated by me and Mr. J. So at least you have the consolation of knowing you were right to hang onto in your last moments. I hope it's a comfort, but compared to acid burning your flesh off, I doubt it will be."

She squeezed the pump in Joker's jacket, sending a jet of acid squirting straight into Buzz's face. She and Joker smiled at the burning, hissing sound and high-pitched scream. "Ok, my turn, my turn!" exclaimed Joker, grabbing the pump away from her. "We'll see if the handcuffs will still hold after I burn off his fingers!"

"Puddin', if we have too much fun with this, how are we gonna top it for Ricky's death?" asked Harley, frowning again.

"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see, pooh," chuckled Joker, kissing her. "But I promise you, we will."


	17. Chapter 17

Ricky Sorkin sat alone in the apartment he had formerly shared with his fiancee before she had lost her mind. He nursed a glass of whisky, his fifth one that night, hoping that alcohol would help him sleep. He hadn't slept in days – every time he shut his eyes, his memories came flooding back. The memories of how happy he had been with Harleen, before it all went wrong. The memories of his friends and partner, before they had been murdered by his fiancee's lover. And the memory of his fiancee's lover falling down into the glowing, green chemicals. His fiancee's lover that he had murdered…

"No," he muttered, slamming his glass down and burying his face in his hands. "I didn't murder him. It was an accident. He fell by accident…"

He kept reliving the scene over and over again in his brain – if he had kicked Jack, it hadn't been a deliberate act. It had just been instinctual, when someone was dragging him down toward his death, to let the other guy die. Especially if the other guy had been messing around with his fiancee…maybe Ricky had let him fall on purpose. Harleen had always talked about the unconscious part of the brain as something that was uncontrollable, something that could make him do bad things without consciously realizing he was doing them. Maybe that part of her brain had driven her into the arms of a murderer. Maybe that part of his brain had made him one too.

Ricky had lost everything – his best friend, his fiancee, and his sense of self. He had always thought of himself as a good guy who did the right thing, no matter what the cost. And yet some part of him now doubted that fact. He doubted his own identity, and his own purpose in life. Things had been so simple before – he had had an amazing relationship with the woman he had always loved, and a job he enjoyed, and which made him feel that he was making a difference in the world. His sense of validation from both his relationship and his career had all but disappeared. He had obviously wildly misjudged the type of woman Harleen was. Or else…it was his fault she had changed. He had failed her somehow, by not being enough for her somehow. And rather than her being able to talk to him about it, she had instead had an affair with a gangster. Of course the fact that his fiancee had cheated on him with such a man had been infuriating, but he couldn't hate Harleen for it, not really. He blamed himself. It was his fault somehow. Just like everything was.

His mood had affected his work, and even though the Commissioner wanted everyone working on this clown murderer case, he had insisted Ricky take some time off. Ricky knew why – he was unfocused and sloppy, and he risked making a stupid mistake and getting himself or his fellow officers hurt. He needed to buck up, to find some way of pulling himself back together. But he honestly didn't see any way back from this, or any way out of the misery that consumed him.

And nothing he did mattered in the end, he thought, chugging his glass of whisky down. The Valestra gang had been released – all their hard work to catch them had been for nothing. His partner and his friends had died for nothing. Their families would never see justice for their deaths. The police were fighting a losing battle in this city – the criminals they did manage to put behind bars were swiftly released, and every day new ones were popping up. There was no way for justice and right to win the war for Gotham City.

He didn't know why he had deluded himself for so long to think he could make a difference for the better. Nobody could. For every good deed done, a thousand more bad ones were committed. There was no way to tip the scale of justice in favor of good. Evil was clearly more natural, more seductive, if Harleen's transformation had been anything to go by. And Ricky was tired of fighting against nature. He was tired of fighting against everything.

The futility of it all, the pointlessness of his existence, coupled with his guilt at how he had failed everyone, was completely overwhelming. There was only one thing for it. Only one way out.

He stood up and headed into the bedroom, opening the closet where he kept his gun. He glanced briefly at the bed that he had formerly shared with Harleen, and thought of her again. He wondered where she was now – the papers had run the story about her escape from Arkham, and the resulting carnage that had accompanied it. She had obviously been kidnapped by someone, and he wondered if she was even alive anymore. He wondered if she would be upset to hear about what he was about to do if she was. He hoped she would be.

He took the gun and headed back into the living room, pouring himself another glass of whisky and pulling a piece of paper out from the desk. He wrote down his thoughts while sipping the drink, his thoughts about the hopeless situation he found himself in, and how he believed making a difference for the better in Gotham was hopeless too. He signed the letter, and then added a postscript that read: _Harley, wherever you are, I'm sorry for everything. I will always love you._

Then he put down the pen and drained the glass. He reached for the gun, cocked it, and held it against his temple. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

…

"Puddin'? You ok?" asked Harley. The Joker hadn't moved from his desk since that morning. The newspaper that had reported Ricky's suicide lay open in front of him, and he just stared at it, as he had been doing for hours.

"Of course I'm not ok!" Joker snapped, turning around. "Your bastard ex-fiance robbed me of my revenge by killing himself! How am I supposed to have any fun now?"

"Puddin', there are other people you can kill," said Harley, soothingly.

"Yeah, but his death was gonna be the ultimate punchline!" exclaimed Joker. "It would've been so funny – him going about his business, thinking I'm dead and you're locked up, and then we drop in and surprise him! I wanted to see the look on his face when he saw us, and when I did to him what he tried to do to me! He completely ruined the joke!"

"I'm sorry, puddin'," said Harley. "But there's nothing we can do about it. We can't let him take away your smile, though."

"You seen what he wrote?" snapped Joker, shoving the paper at her, which had printed Ricky's suicide note in full. "He gave up! Said there's no point in fighting, that crime and chaos are inevitable, and that we all may as well accept darkness and destruction! What a pathetic coward! You don't see me giving up trying to spread smiles and laughter to this otherwise miserable burg, do ya? What would the world be like if we all took the coward's way out and gave up the game?!"

"I don't think…Ricky saw it as a game, puddin'," said Harley, slowly.

"Yeah, that was part of his problem, all right," snapped Joker. "Took everything too seriously, and look where that got him! The frustrating thing is not only have I lost my main adversary, it's that he was such a pathetic adversary to begin with! I'm disappointed in him, and in myself. And in you, for almost marrying the guy!"

"I guess we both didn't really know each other at all," murmured Harley, reading the note. "I never thought Ricky woulda done that. But I guess we all have our breaking points in the end."

"I don't," snapped Joker, grabbing the paper away from her. "I nearly died in those chemicals, but I came back. I didn't give up, and look what happened to me!"

"You had something to come back for," murmured Harley, cuddling him. "To fight for. You had me. And you always will have me."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Joker.

"Ain't you happy about that?" asked Harley, frowning.

"Sure I am, kid," he replied, smiling at her. He kissed her cheek. "I'm just a little disappointed. I had a really great, painful gag all planned for Ricky's death, and now I'll never get to use it."

"You can use it on someone else," said Harley.

"Nah, it's gotta be someone worthy of it," replied Joker. "Some mortal enemy of mine. If I had known Ricky was gonna kill himself, I would have waited to kill Buzz and the gang. Then at least I coulda used it on them. Now it's just gonna be a joke going to waste, and I hate that more than anything."

"Maybe you'll have another mortal enemy someday," suggested Harley.

"I doubt it, pooh," sighed Joker. "It takes a special kinda guy to compete with my criminal genius. The cops don't stand a chance, and who else out there could possibly oppose me?"

"You can't give up hope, puddin'," said Harley, encouragingly. "That's what Ricky did, and I couldn't bear the same thing to happen to you."

"Don't you worry about that, kiddo," said Joker. "I ain't going nowhere. I didn't claw my way back from the edge of death just to give up the fight."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Harley. "Now come to bed. You'll feel better tomorrow, especially if you let your Harley Quinn make you feel better tonight."

He chuckled. "I like the sound of that, pooh," he said. "What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could use some of your little clown toys in bed," purred Harley. "Just play around and…have some fun."

"I do love fun," agreed Joker.

"Well, then," said Harley, grinning as she held up a gun. She pulled the trigger, and the bang flag popped out. She held it in front of her body. "You wanna bang this?" she asked.

Joker giggled. "You bet I do!" he exclaimed, spanking her and following her into the bedroom. "And you're right, Harley – I shouldn't let this get me down. Being glum just doesn't suit me – I'm the Joker, and I should always be smiling and optimistic! I'm sure someone out there will make me another great mortal enemy!"


	18. Chapter 18

"Master Bruce, you're very engrossed in that newspaper," commented Alfred, as he placed the breakfast tray down in front of Bruce Wayne. Bruce didn't even look up or acknowledge Alfred's presence, his eyes glued to the page.

"Master Bruce?" repeated Alfred.

"Sorry, Alfred," said Bruce, tearing his eyes away from the paper at last. "I was just…reading."

"Very intently, sir," said Alfred, pouring his coffee. "Something interesting in the paper?"

"Interesting isn't the word I would use," replied Bruce. "Tragic is more like it. And powerful."

"Sir?" asked Alfred.

Bruce handed the paper to him. "A police officer called Ricky Sorkin committed suicide last night and left a note. They printed it in the paper."

"Most regrettable, sir," said Alfred, picking up the paper and reading the note:

 _When I was little, I believed in heroes saving the day. I always wanted to be a hero – that's why I became a cop. Now I see that there's no such thing as a hero. No one man can stand up against the darkness of the world, and no one man can fight it to make any difference. My dreams of heroism cost me my friends and my relationship, because it's not true what they say. The good guys don't always win. The bad guys do. That's the sad truth about life. There are no heroes, and the good guys always lose. That's just how it is in Gotham. It's a city rampant in crime and hatred, and those forces are always stronger than justice and love. I see that now. There's nothing we can do against the forces of evil. At least, there's nothing I can do. There's nothing one man can do except accept it. I have, but I can no longer live with the realization that the world is a dark, hopeless place full of dangerous, cruel people. I can't fight it anymore, and if I can't fight, I can't live. I hope that there's a better place in the hereafter, where all those people who have been destroyed by the darkness can find peace and light at last. I hope to join them there, which is the only hope I have left now._

 _Ricky Sorkin_

 _P.S. Harley, wherever you are, I'm sorry for everything. I will always love you._

"Harley was his fiancee," explained Bruce. "From what I could find out, she was incarcerated in Arkham Asylum for aiding and abetting a gang of criminals, one of which was her lover."

"One can't blame the poor man for feeling hopeless under those circumstances," agreed Alfred, folding the paper and handing it back. "A terrible tragedy indeed, sir."

"Yes," agreed Bruce, staring off into the distance.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked Alfred.

"I know how he felt," murmured Bruce. "After…my parents died, I wanted to just give up on life. It seemed like there was no escape from the all-consuming darkness, and nothing worth living for. I felt that way…for a long time."

"But you carried on, sir," said Alfred. "As we all must somehow."

"Yes," repeated Bruce. "I carried on. But that injustice he spoke about rankles every day, the injustice of my parents' murder going unpunished. And it makes you realize the futility of your own existence. Just carrying on isn't enough, Alfred. We have to do something. We have to fight."

"How would you suggest doing that, sir?" asked Alfred. "This young man was a police officer, and even he didn't think that made any difference. Of course, his mind was in a very fragile place, so perhaps he wasn't thinking clearly…"

"I think he was right," interrupted Bruce. "I don't think traditional means of fighting evil are enough."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that, sir," said Alfred, slowly. "I wouldn't condone doing anything too rash…"

"Don't you see, Alfred?" demanded Bruce, holding the paper up. "Rashness is the only way to make a difference! Ricky played by the rules and did everything by the book, and look where that got him! His life was ruined, and he gave up! I can't believe that one person can't make a difference – I know they can! But they can only do it through extreme measures! It's not enough to follow and obey the law. We have to take it into our own hands sometimes."

"Forgive me, sir, but isn't that what the criminals are doing?" asked Alfred.

"Yes, and look how effective they are," retorted Bruce.

"But to emulate them would make you no better than they are," pointed out Alfred.

"That's not true," said Bruce. "Not if you set yourself apart from them somehow. Not if you have levels you won't stoop to, and lines you won't cross. And there's one I never will. I will never kill anyone."

He stood up. "Anyway, I'm not doing this for some selfish motivation, as the criminals are. I'm doing this for people like Ricky, people who maybe have given up hope in heroes and good guys winning. I have to show them there is still hope. I have to show them one man can stand up against the darkness and make a difference."

"Sir, perhaps you should sleep on this…" began Alfred.

"No, I want to be out there tonight," interrupted Bruce, heading toward his room. "Out in the city, confronting criminals and stopping crime. I can't wait another moment – every second evil is winning. I can't wait any longer to fight back against it."

"But sir, what about your name and reputation?" asked Alfred. "You don't want the name of Wayne to be associated with some…vigilante, do you?"

"I won't be Bruce Wayne, obviously," retorted Bruce. "I'll be someone else. A masked hero. I'm going to be…the Batman."

Alfred sighed heavily. "Very good, sir," he muttered, following him from the room. "I only hope you know what you're doing."

…

"Hey, you're up early, puddin'!" exclaimed Harley, as she saw the Joker sitting at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper with gleaming eyes and a huge smile. "And you're looking a lot happier than I've seen you in weeks!"

"I sure am, pooh bear!" giggled Joker, kissing her. "I got some wonderful news this morning, and I couldn't be happier!"

"What news?" asked Harley, taking the paper he handed to her. The headline read: _Winged Freak Terrorizes Gotham_.

"Guy calling himself Batman?" asked Harley, scanning the article in confusion. "Why is that wonderful news?"

"Don't you see, pumpkin pie?" exclaimed Joker, his smile widening. "I've found me my new mortal enemy! Another crazy guy in a costume! He's perfect! And you can tell he won't quit the game before it's over, unlike Ricky. If you can't trust a guy in a mask, who can you trust?"

"Puddin'…as glad as I am to see you happy again, I don't think you should get too excited over some nutcase in a bat costume," said Harley, slowly. "He's clearly mentally unstable. There's no reason for you to think he won't disappoint you like Ricky did…"

"Sure there is, pooh!" exclaimed Joker. "Because he's crazy, y'see! Ricky wasn't, that was his problem. Sane people can't be trusted. But crazy people you can always depend upon to be crazy! And Batsy and me, we're two lunatics in a pod! I just know it!"

"You haven't even met the guy," said Harley.

"And when I do, I'm sure it'll be magical!" exclaimed Joker. "The happy, colorful clown versus the grim and brooding batfreak! It couldn't be a more perfect setup!"

"Setup for what?" asked Harley.

"For a joke, pooh, of course!" exclaimed Joker. "You see, Ricky's problem was that he finally saw what the world was really like – full of pain, misery, and darkness. He couldn't cope with the futility of existence in reality, so he killed himself. Now me and Batsy, we see the world for what it is, but rather than give up and kill ourselves, we fight for the world we want to see! We make it into a game, a joke! A world where people in costumes can do whatever the hell they want, where they can spread smiles and laughter, or their own brand of harsh, vigilante justice! A world of heroes and villains, which the real world ain't got at all! But now I got a villain of my own, and together, we can make the world into the one we wanna live in! A world of fun, mischief, and laughter! For me, a world of endless punchlines and violent gags, and for him…whatever the hell the bat stuff means," he said, waving his hand. "I'll ask him when I see him, I guess. Maybe he wants a world of vampires or something – that'd be pretty cool."

"What if he hurts you, puddin'?" asked Harley. "I don't wanna see that."

"Aw, a little pain never hurt anyone," said Joker, kissing her. "Don't you worry, pooh. You of all people know that violence ain't something I mind at all."

He took her hand. "You are gonna help me, aren't you, Harley?" he asked. "You are gonna help me make the world into the way it should be, the way I already see it? I dream of a world where everybody is always laughing. Doncha wanna help me make that dream come true?"

Harley nodded slowly. "Sure, puddin'," she said. "That sounds…great."

"That's my girl!" he exclaimed, kissing her. "Well, get dressed in your Sunday best harlequin suit – we wanna look our best meeting Batsy tonight! I need to think of some way to lure him into a trap – that'll be fun, and a great way to introduce myself!" he giggled, heading off to his study.

Harley sighed, shaking her head and smiling lovingly after him. She wasn't too sure about this sudden Batman obsession, but as long as it made Mr. J happy, she wasn't going to object. She was going to stand by him and help him, whatever happened. It might be crazy, but wasn't everybody a little crazy in love?

 **The End**


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